


Warm in the Cold With You

by supportvelkoz



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Fluff and Humor, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mental Health Issues, Origin Story, Pharmercy, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-10-10 00:16:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 39,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10425012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supportvelkoz/pseuds/supportvelkoz
Summary: Fareeha Amari. Angela Ziegler. There is so much more to them that we've yet to discover. The scars of battle, the nightmares. The horror of having to witness the death of teammates again, again and again. Only to have to revive them and watch them once more fall to their knees. Of chocolate drinks, warm Swiss cottages, marshmellows. Kisses, stolen and otherwise, and quiet nights.





	1. Safe and Sound

**1\. Safe and Sound**

'Justice rains from a-Oof!', the burly Egyptian's vision blacked out for one second as a mass of soft, cold substance found its mark on her cheek. The snowy missile she was harboring plopped onto the white-washed ground as the younger Amari brushed stray ice out of her dreadlocks.

Turning to glare at the perpetrator, Pharah found a very flustered Doktor with her hands over her mouth and extreme concern in those wide, blue eyes.

'OhmygodFareehaImsosorryIdidntmeant-'

'Stop', the former Chief of Security at Helix International shushed her girlfriend as she, too, dug up another little scoop of snow and shaped it into a rough approximation of what could be considered rotund. With her back turned to her blonde partner a little grin found its way onto Pharah's lips.

'...reallyitwasonlyforfunididntthinkitw-Augh!'

It was now Mercy's turn to almost fall over as a snowball splattered onto her face, causing stray ice to fall into her scarf. The cold, now inside, somehow made her face only hotter as she rubbed a gloved hand gingerly over her cheek and locked eyes with her girlfriend of two years for a brief moment, before both of them fell back onto their haunches, laughing.

When their buttocks got cold the lovebirds gathered themselves and linked hands as they trudged the short distance back to Angela's cottage; they had gone to watch the sunrise from a particular clifftop at the Doktor's suggestions- spectacular when admired from on top of the Swiss Alps, she had said happily.

Fareeha could only agree, mesmerized by the way sunbeams gave Angela's hair that soft, halo-like golden glow.

...

She rubbed her hands together for warmth as she nudged logs with a poker and waited for the fireplace to do its job. Her eyes were lazy, doing passes at her angel's cute little bum while the latter hummed a quiet, happy tune, sashaying back and forth as she prepared two mugs of hot chocolate for the pair of them.

The warmth emanating from the kindled fire coupled with the soft, barely discernible flurry of snow impacting floor-to-ceiling glass set the Egyptian in a ponderous mood. The right word would be 'sonder', as Fareeha Amari gratefully accepted her drink and took hold of her lover's hand, leaning back in the plush, vanilla-smelling seat as her Doktor took the seat beside her, the two content to sit in companionable silence to watch snow fall.

Idly, she sniffed and noticed Angela's scent was everywhere.

Not that Fareeha minded.

Her Doktor chortled, and she looked over, eyebrows quirked, asking what caused the reaction. Flustered, and very, very cute, Angela pointed at the stack of unopened letters that had accumulated on their seldom-used dinner table.

It took Fareeha a moment to get what her partner was pointing at, and she couldn't help but roll her eyes, although there was a look of bemusememt on her visage all the same.

Sitting proudly on top of the pile was a cuboid package, content unknown, but what drew her attention was the large blocky letters ,written on a placard, tied to the neat bow on top of the gift that read: 'Merry Christmas you Lesbian Sky Angels!' with what was probably 'Lena and Emily' written in more refined cursive below.

It was a little comical. She frowned a little as her eyes ran over 'Lesbian Sky Angels' again. Typical Lena. Hmphm.

But Fareeha could not stop a smile. In fact, she snorted out a chuckle and draped an arm over her Doktor, pulling the latter close for a kiss to the forehead.

Angela purred under her touch, and wanted to lean in even further but only for the separation of the chairs keeping them apart. Sighing softly, the former Chief of Security nuzzled her partner's soft, fragrant hair, eyes once again tracking the snowflakes outside, her nose pleasantly filled with the rich aroma of her wafting chocolate drink.

It was days like these, when there was nothing to do really and the weather actually permits her sitting on her ass all morning, that Fareeha took the time to marvel with joy at how she had come to be with her beloved despite all their differences.

For it was common knowledge that Angela was five years her senior, and had even taken care of her when Fareeha was but a child when the young Doktor first joined Overwatch. If someone had told her just three years ago that she would one day be engaged to this... wonderful, kind, _angelic_ being, Fareeha would have snorted and slapped them on the back. After all, the age gap was only the beginning of their non-similarities.

As it was, things took a rather nice turn for the better.

What was it about the Doktor that drew Fareeha to her? the Egyptian mused. Was it the fact that she was so intelligent, already a pioneer in her field even before the age of thirty? Maybe. Was it her charisma, then; how she could smile at anyone and everyone with that sincere, lovely smile of hers? Probably, she entertained the thought. Or perhaps it was her looks, at this Fareeha scrunched up her nose- her frequent substitute for blushing. Strong women like Fareeha did not blush easily, after all. Was it Angela's lithe, willowy figure- Fareeha continued her train of thought, cheeks rapidly heating up and it was _not_ because of the warmth- and her silken blonde hair that always managed to have a few strands loose begging to be tucked, even when she bunched it all up in a ponytail? She had no idea.

Her gaze flicked down as she felt her Doktor's other hand clasping hers, so that now her whole palm was being held by Angela.

'Hmm?', she murmured as her partner seemed to stare at nothing while tracing random patterns on the grafted skin of Fareeha's prosthetic limb. Tingles traversed her spine, making her squirm with pleasure, but not because her skin was sensitive. In fact, years of combat and thousands of hours in the gym had made her the definition of thick-skinned. Really, Angela just had that effect on her.

Fareeha was a soldier. She might not be warlike by nature, but years in the Army and then Helix Security only to be followed by Overwatch had made her as much a fighter as the definition of fighter could have entailed.

Her Doktor, on the other hand, was an ardent pacifist, detesting violence to the point of refusing to carry a sidearm on her first missions in the Old Overwatch. Gabriel had kicked up a hundred fuss and then some back then- the occasional stories her mother told her of the good old days had always given then young Pharah the impression that Angela, or Mercy, as was her call sign, wouldn't go near a gun if her life depended on it.

But eventually, she did, and of course it wasn't even her life that was on the line when shooting one human being to protect another was required of her.

Angela was a savior. She healed. She saved. She gave hope. Fareeha herself on the other hand... she flew into battles, Raptora suit's weapons brandished like a vengeful angel sent from the heavens to bring justice to the enemy.

But who was the enemy? And what right did she have to dispense 'justice'?

It had been so much simpler back in the Old Overwatch's days. Omnics were bad. Humans were good. Go shoot the Omnics and you are a good soldier. Where humans became the enemies was where all the lines became blurred, and Fareeha would never forget that time when the screaming teenage girl charged at her with sorrowful, angry tears streamimg down her cheeks as she waved a carbine wildly at her dead family and friends; all terrorists, the lot of them.

'Why?!', she had demanded as she came threateningly close. She should have done a proper threat assessmemt and held the girl at gun point. She should have. But then...'Why?', she had sobbed at Pharah's feet, gun dropped, dirty hands brought to her face to vainly stop the stream of tears that would not stop no matter. Pharah knew that much. Oh no, the tears wouldn't stop alright. They would never stop. One day they would give way to anger and a dozen years from now a new cell would be uncovered with this very young woman leading them into the fray. A shadow fell over the young rebel, and Fareeha's eyes widened. Too late.

'Wh-'. Bang.

Deafeningly loud.

Then deafening silence.

And her headless body fell to the dust, along with the rest of them. Bits of brain splattered on Pharah's chest plate. Her eyes were unfocused. Unseeing.

Her second-in-command put away his pistol and walked away with the rest of the hit squad and compulsion forced her feet to move so she would not miss extraction and be left behind in the no-man's-land.

'Why?', the girl muttered. But something was wrong. There was no face! Where was her face? _Where was her face!?_

'Why?!', Pharah stared along the length of her own rocket launcher. _Heh_ , she thought, _I'm on the wrong end of it this time_.

'Wh-'

'Fareeha...?', Angela sounded worried, 'mein liebling?'

No answer.

'Are you alright?', Mercy shook her. Pharah stared through her partner with eyes that were looking at something that wasn't really there.

'Fareeha', she felt warm hands pull her close. She fell into them like a rag-doll. Funny. If Talon operatives shot down the chimney right now brandishing guns and Stalkers crashed down their porch, Pharah would have just rolled over and muttered 'End me'.

'Fareeha!', her Doktor shook her, genuine distress in her voice as she looked at her blank face and then brought her close. Rapid, worried kisses were rained onto her face. Angela pecked at her lips. Her cheeks. Her face. Her forehead.

'I'm here', she whispered fervently, 'Fareeha I'm here. I'm here for you. Come back.'

'Come back to me.'

'Mein liebling you have to come back to me...please!'

'Please', she cried. Her Angela cried.

Her Doktor was weeping.

That was enough to finally tear Fareeha out of her waking nightmare and she collapsed fully into her partner's lap when Angela's hands stopped supporting her to try and stop the tears now falling freely from the latter's eyes. She said something to Angela. What, she did not know. But she must have said something.

'I'm here', she heard her angel mutter into her hair as she saw the snow again. Everything was white.

White. White. _White...?_

Yes. Snow. The Alps. That's where she was.

Not the battlefield. Not in the infirmary. Not over that girl.

But safe, in her Doktor's hold.

Safe.

'I'm here, mein liebling.'

She was safe.

'I'm here.'


	2. Need you more

**2\. Need You More**

_The next day..._

The bedroom was toned dark. It was a... gentle kind of dark. A shade with a consistency much reminiscent of an overcast shadow. A good frame of reference would be to imagine the shade the pyramids of Giza cast when the sun was at its highest at exactly... um... high noon. The curtains were drawn because the owners found it a little perturbed to stare out at cold expanses of nothingness at night, but by right it would have been open at this time; dawn was peeking on the horizons.

Not that it would have showed; outside the sky was sheet white as it rained globules the size of little snowballs, banging the bulletproof glass with semi-hard bop!bop!bop! that, given time, might have dissolved rather nicely into a dull background noise to help lull an exhausted Fareeha to sleep.

Being the fickle Mistress that she was, though , sleep evaded her. No amount of gun-wagging and rump-bashing would convince sleep to come back, so a very disgruntled Fareeha dragged herself off the bed and dragged the covers with her, along with her Doktor's favorite bolster.

The wooded floor made her feet cold and with half-lidded eyes groggy Fareeha began limping around the house looking for her comfort, a voice in the back of her head saying sleepily that hey maybe the fireplace would be warm so she should dive into it because it was warm and curl up in there and sleep a while yeah.

She came to the semi-dark living room and paused as her eyes adjusted to see a silhouette on the floor. An amber light flicked in and out of existence minutely, exhaled smoke left ghostly trails in the cold, cold air. Fareeha scrunched up her nose and blew experimentally to dispel the thick smell.

To little avail, granted.

Angela sat with her back to the coffee table, blanket draped over her shoulders, eyes vacant as she watched the rain. The cigarette joined its brethren, leaving her with a world-weary sigh, still unaware that Fareeha stood there. The fireplace crackled pleasantly with a little flame; barely enough to warm, perhaps, but just the ambient noise was enough. It served its purpose.

The ashtray near her crossed legs were two joints full and, had Fareeha been more aware, would have given her Doktor a slight chide.

But such was not the case.

'Ang...', Fareeha murmured as she crawled into her Doktor's lap. Carelessly tied straps over fluffy blue bathrobe revealed tantalizing expanses of smooth, creamy flesh and the delightful swell of one breast. A warm mug of cocoa, a third full, was gently brought to her cheeks, filling her nostrils with a pleasant, rich aroma. Another, empty, mug was on the floor nearby.

'Sugar tooth in the morning?', she asked, hugging a cool thigh and the bolster together.

'Can't sleep', Angela muttered. She began stroking her partner's hair. It was a little rough. Her fingers felt several split ends. Dry and... a little unclean to the touch. She chalked it up to the cold; a week in sub-zero temperatures did unkind things to a girl's hair.

'Me neither', Fareeha whined, relishing this small window of vulnerability she allowed herself when in the company of her beloved.

'Mhm.'

Silence became the two and Fareeha drifted in and out of sleep for several moments. Time lost its significance on her. When she opened her eyes again, the rain had become something more like water falling from the clouds than the elements starting a snowball fight and the second mug of cocoa had been drained.

It sat on the floor a little bit away, traces of brown on the bottom. Feet of snow stacked against the glass. Yeti. Her mind drifted to Yeti. Surely there would be at least one Yeti in the Swiss Alps, no? Hmphm.

Angela had her face leaned against the bolster, breathing softly.

'What did you dream about?'

Fareeha asked as she stared up into those lovely blue eyes. She saw the hesitation come and go on Angela's visage, however fleeting, and she pursed her lips.

'Ang.'

Her Doktor looked so fragile. So vulnerable. The protective side in Fareeha took over and she was sitting up, embracing her partner before her sweet Angela could even mutter a muted response.

'I am alive, here. See?', she held her Doktor's chin and tilted it back to look at her when she stubbornly tried to turn away. Eyes, so timid, they did not dare meet hers anymore. _'Look at me Mercy. I need you to look at me. What's going on?' She reached out a hand. Mercy shrunk from her touch. A random object was grabbed and pointed menacingly at her._

'I'm alive', Fareeha spoke, enunciating each syllable as one would to a toddler. Her heart broke as she watched Angela battle her inner demons. And there was nothing she could do but hold her and whisper promises of a better tomorrow. Whispering lies that she hoped were more than lies and well-wishes. For Angela's sake. For Angela's ears. Maybe for both their ears, 'I got you.' ' _You are not real!', she screeched, stapler dropped. Hands brought up to cover her ears. 'I saw, watched you die!', she screamed and lashed out. Strong hands grabbed her wrist and held her down. Mercy began to fight Pharah desperately, dilated pupils staring through the Egyptian at a spot on the ceiling. Feeble, untrained legs bashed against her sides. Fareeha grunted and applied her body weight to restrain the hysterical Doctor. 'I saw you die.'_

Pitter patter. Drip drip drop. Rain against the glass varies with a certain, almost... oscillating rhythm? The fire had long died out. They clutched each other in the seeping cold, sharing so much more than just body warmth. Water ran down in little streams. Every here and there and in between, individual droplets went off on their merry way, some joining others and speeding down. Others paused, hesitating, before another droplet booped their behinds and both sped down the glass, too. Fareeha Amari never knew watching rain could be so fascinating. _'I watched it y-you', she hiccuped. Tears were everywhere, ruining immaculately applied eye-liner, 'I-i saw you fall.'_ _'I s-saw you fall on the', breathe, 't-the door and the blasted edge it... it.' Fareeha blinked rapidly as the body in her embrace trembled . Sobs racked the willowy frame. Was it too much? It was too much._

_'The blasted edge it impaled your heart.'_

'I dreamed about you', Angela's voice was soft when she spoke again.

'Where?'

Inhale.

'Omsk.'

'Ah...'

Exhale.

'I see.'

She had been evading anti-air missiles. Systems were at max, but heavily taxed; she had not been on solid ground for nearly forty minutes and the strain was beginning to take its toll. ' _I'm alive. Still here, see?', a stubborn, turned cheek was guided to face her._

Fareeha never saw the widowmine clap her thrusters, blowing her out of the sky. _'I love you', her Doktor gasped, biting back a moan, 'I love you more than I love life itself.'_

Resurrection seconds later by her Doktor's hands had a vengeful Pharah bearing down on the scattered remnants of the mob. No prisoners were taken at Omsk that day. Losses had been minimal, but seven blocks lay wasted. The industrial complex would probably never see operations again. ' _What do you feel when you have to revive us and watch us die so many times?', she had asked. The stars were so bright it was like they shone just for them. 'I don't.' 'You don't? Don't what?', she quirked a quizzical eyebrow. 'I don't feel.' '...' 'Not anymore.'_

Battle weary Mercy dragged the head of her Caduceus staff along the churned up soil of the ground as she headed for the cloaked Banshee. A cry was heard from behind a collapsed doorway as the last of the Helix personnel strapped in and Fareeha leaned against the loading bay door, empty eyes watching Mercy sidetrack. Her golden wings went out of sight. Muffled sounds emanated from the rubles, their nature pleading, begging. Sobs. Quick and hurried, its owner appealing to murdered patience and shredded sympathy. Click. Lock.

Silence. Panic. She heard pa-One.

Two. Three. The crying stopped. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight.

Click.

Lock.

Reload.

Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Silence again.

Mercy's sidearm holster was empty as she sat, stoic, while they flew over the Black Sea.

Sun. Sun. Go away. Come again another...day. The sun showed anyways. Muted, cold light illuminated the bags under her Doktor's eyes.

Soft breathing was the only sound heard. Two shattered people hugged each other.

_'I believe that we can heal, and love each other.' Kiss. Gasp. The witch hat was tossed haphazardly to one side, quickly followed by the rest of the costume._

_Breath._

_'I believe broken halves make untainted wholes.'_

_'Do you trust me?'_

'Do you trust me?', she whispered into blonde hair, strong arms pulling their bodies closer.

_'Yes...'_

'Yes.'

They watched the rain fall for a long, long time.


	3. All Alone

**3.** **All Alone**

'Can I have another?'

'No!', the retort was in jest and they both knew it, 'you're going to get fat and round and you will waddle like a penguin!'

'Penguins waddle?', Fareeha blinked rapidly, one hand over her lips to stop herself from bursting with laughter.

'Yes!', her Angela declared vindictively, pinkie out and trying to look so aristocratic it made Fareeha chuckle, 'by my decree, penguins waddle, alright!'

'And doctor's orders, too', she smiled, adding, and Fareeha snorted, withdrawing her hand from the cookie jar as she munched through the last of the treat. They were good, yes. Which was also lucky because baking cookies was about the only thing her Doktor could do well where the kitchen was concerned. That, and making chocolate drinks to die for. _'You don't cook?', Pharah asked, surprise etched on her face. 'Y-yeah. In my student days I got by on microwaving stuff and... uh ...eating out all the time', she blushed, 'and in the old Overwatch Ana just cooks for us so...' 'Wew', Pharah smirked, 'alright. Let the real woman do the job then!' Angela punched her shoulder and yelped as she hurt her hand. Fareeha only smiled._

They sat at the dinner table opening mail as soft jazz played on her Doktor's tablet speaker. There were scarves from Emi and Lena, two holo watches from Winston and an assortment of cards and chocolate from the rest of the Overwatch members who had replied to the Recall. Ana had sent a beautiful, gold-gilded picture frame as well. The older woman was foreshadowing a very obvious picture to occupy that position but neither women were really in a rush to discuss _that_ right now. Fareeha busied herself with untangling ribbons while her partner tackled the foodstuff.

The fireplace crackled and popped merrily while indifferent snow was falling... as always.

Angela squinted at a brown confectionery after tearing open the package before plopping it in her mouth. She perused the box, those doctor eyes skimming over the ingredients and analyzing data at a mile a minute, no doubt. Fareeha smiled as she admired the sight. Truly, it was lovely in all of itself.

Apparently satisfied with her inspection, her Doktor fished out another piece, this one a star-shaped milk chocolate, and brought it to Fareeha's lips as she proclaimed:

'Swiss chocolate; best chocolate!'

Her partner gave a low chuckle and spread her lips to accept the treat. Angela's finger lingered just a few seconds longer than would be absolutely necessary, causing the younger woman to wiggle her eyebrows at her seductively and softly gripping the finger with her teeth. The Egyptian was rather terrible at trying to be a flirt, but with her visage making that awfully cute 'come hither' look it absolutely killed the good Doktor.

Angela burst out laughing then, taking back her hand and resting her cheek on it as she gazed at Fareeha lovingly.

They stared at each other, all smiles.

'Mein liebling...', Angela looked at her with a more serious expression, 'would you like to go down to Zurich tonight, perhaps?'

'What, with you?', Fareeha smirked playfully.

Scrunching up her eyebrows as she made a whiny noise, Angela softly punched her partner's shoulder and pouted;

'Of course!'

Able to hold back no more at her partner's flustered expression, Fareeha Amari let out a hearty laugh and draped an arm over slim shoulders, her Doktor only too willing to nuzzle into the warm embrace.

'Zurich? Let's go', Fareeha grinned her confident, I-got-my-Raptora-suit-systems-at-max grin at her.

'Yay!', a happy sound not that dis-similar to a seven year old girl could be heard from Angela.

'Anything for you', she smiled, but softly, because Fareeha Amari didn't trust herself to be seen so sentimental by her beloved, 'anything at all.'

(break)

00:17, the morning after Omsk.

 _She looked like shit._ _Fareeha stared right into her eyes, quietly tracing the contours of that delicate face, those... almost regal cheekbones. That long, slim neck._

_Anything to take her eyes away from the Doctor's nakedness underneath her open lab coat. It was, after all, very inappropriate._

_'What the fuck do you want?', Angela asked angrily, her voice several decibels too loud in the windowless corridor._

_'I-', Fareeha hesitated. What did she want? Hmphm. Even she herself did not really know, 'I wanted to make sure that you were okay, Doctor...'_

_'I'm fine', Angela spat vehemently, bloodshot eyes narrowing. Then, pausing because, well, coherent thought would take great effort with one under the influence of that much alcohol, she stopped. 'I was. Until you decided to bother me.'_

_Past the disheveled woman Fareeha saw what in her impression should be an immaculate room littered with pink magazines, plastic wrappers and crushed beer cans. A running laptop sat idle on a neat desk; the mere_ _oddity in the unholy mess that was Ziegler's personal quarters._

_'Well? What are you still doing here, Captain?', Angela emphasized the word with a snide look, 'why don't you go run back to your Mama and go bother her instead, huh?'_

_'Angela-'_

_'-shut the fuck up brat! Don't you dare call me by my name.'_

_'Fine.'_

_'...huh?'_

_Fareeha was striding swiftly down the corridor and out of sight before Angela, through her daze, finally realized that the crazy woman had at last left her alone._

_'Heh', she slammed the door, then sprawled onto her beanie and panted, tongue hanging out as she gasped for air to ease the exertion she didn't know she was putting herself through,_ _'crazy bitch.'_

_She groped for a cigarette but those were gone already. Ziegler sighed._

_'Ain't that right, Lily?'_

_Yessss..._

_Cheap beer pulsed in her veins, making her light-headed, dizzy._ _Angela scrunched up her nose at the acrid smell in her room; ashtrays overflowed with cigarette butts on her coffee table, and she herself hadn't showered after the mission either. She felt like shit. But oh god was she high. She was so high._

_'Lily I... i feel like I can fly.'_

_Then fly... No one can stop you._

_Angela got up and danced. She swirled a solo tango to what was, before, the can, now the bottle. The bottle was almost empty, too, but there were two gulps of alcohol in that; more than enough to knock her out for at least twelve hours straight. She was not a dancer by profession, perhaps, but Angela did attend a couple of ballet lessons in her early years, if only in an experimental nature. She mixed things up and tried to pirouette but landed flat on her buttocks, 'oofing' as she fell._

_'Haha. I suck balls at this', Angela felt sad._ _The Doctor stared at the pictures of naked women in her open magazines and chuckled as she hefted one of her breasts, feeling the comforting weight in her palm._

_'Still young, Lily. Still young...'_

_Kek. You're turning thirty five this year, Ang. That's the wrong side of thirty._

_Heh. Fuck you too._

_She dragged herself over to her personal medicine cabinet or, more aptly, her stash. Rummaging was done and alcohol was acquired._

_The raven-haired girl in the pretty black dress had herself draped over Angela, lips suckling the latter's neck. Teeth made marks, drawing blood. Angela squirmed at the sensation but her companion just kept going._

_'Lily... I'm cold.'_

_Silence._

_'Lily I can't feel my hands...'_

_Tears threatened to break free but she held on._ _Why? Why was she crying? She was a big girl now, big girls don't cry! ...right?_

_'I can't... I. I can't feel anything...'_

_Lily pointed at the desk._

_Wordlessly, Angela Ziegler dragged herself towards that bottom drawer where she kept all her sharp_ _things. Like a wounded animal on all fours limping from its hunter. But there was no hunt, and no hunter; Angela had nowhere to hide, anyways._

_Go... Lily whispered._

_'Hic', Ziegler hiccuped, bleary eyes looking around as a spark of sobriety hit her, only to be strangled by the raven-haired girl and extinguished._

_Let me._

_'Wut?'_

_Let me help you._ _Where was it, huh? Mhm. Papers. Documents. What is this research get it outta here. Hmphm..._

_'Lily?'_

_'Lily what are we doing?'. Ah. Yes. There. Nail filers. Scissors. Paper cutters..._

_Let me help you feel again._

... _k_ _nives._

_'Lily why am I-'_

_-let me in..._

_So fast. So fast through her drunken daze she didn't register it right away._

_Ahh... yes_

_'Ahh!', Angela sobbed. The crimson rush was making her head_ _swim. Oddly enough, she felt a strange kind of release- like as if a metaphysical dam had been broken inside of her. But whatever relief it brought was overwhelmed by the sting of the next-_

_'It hurts, Lily! It hurts!'_

_More. Again._

_'No!', she gasped, dropping, 'Lily why are we doing this?!'_

_Again._ _Yesssss_

 _'No...'_ , _Ziegler pleaded._

_Yes!_

_'Stop it. Please.'_

_Lines. Parallel lines. Pretty, little lines._ _Ang don't you think red looks good on white? Isn't that the symbol for your profession?_ _Ja?_

_'Please...'_

_Submit._

_You paint a pretty picture- 'no, not again n-' but with a little twist, for the paintbrush i- 'no stop! Lily stop you're hurting me'-your knife and thE CANVAS IS YOUR WRI-_

(break)

_'Fuck!', Fareeha screamed as she dropped the barbell. Over three hundred pounds of metal slammed to the padded floor, but the shock and sound wave were still awfully big. Thankfully, the gym was sound-proofed._

_High intensity low volume or low intensity high volume. Should I do Smolov at this stage. Sumo deadlift or normal. Is Mom hanging with Rein or 76. What's Zarya doing._

_Captain Fareeha tried to think of anything but Angela Ziegler, her frustration only growing with each passing second._

_Deciding at last that running might do her more good, Fareeha unclasped her powerlifting belt and stowed her gear away in one of the many lockers, then made for outside._

_Yes. Maybe a couple laps round the base perimeter would clear up her mind._


	4. Bottom of the Glass

**4\. Bottom of the glass**

_The past..._

The last thing Captain Fareeha Amari expected was to find Mercy sitting alone on the floor in the dark, cold gym. She had woken up early- at four a.m- and decided to go for a run. It was only when she walked past one of the windows that she saw it was raining cats and dogs outside; and has apparently been for hours. The torrential rain gave her little options but to resort to going to the gym instead, which was how she found herself here.

'Um... good morning D-doctor?'

Marks on the carpeted floor led to a displaced bench that had clearly been dragged out of position. Angela Ziegler had on a dark blue hoodie with this symbol of an eagle in a triangle- the Starcraft Terran crest- as she leaned against the bench with her back to her colleague, and was wearing what Fareeha could only assume was yoga pants as she seemed to almost be studying the rain. It did not take a genius to figure out that the Doctor had no intention of doing any sorts of training here whatsoever.

Two cigarette-gripping fingers were waved as a half-hearted reply to her greetings. Angela didn't even bother to turn her head to look at her. Not here to do any training, yup.

At the dumbell rack, however, a few of the smaller weights lay in haphazard arrangement, like as if their user had deigned to try them on, then thought twice when he or she found the weight too much and hastily put them back to disassociate themselves from the action. A little knowing smile graced Fareeha's lips as she stared at the Doctor's back.

An ashtray and several cans of beer laid at her side. Smoke wafted from the Swisswoman with every shaky inhales and exhales. Her willowy frame looked even more fragile in the clearly-oversized hoodie and Fareeha caught herself wondering if the Doctor felt cold. All was silent save for the steady pitter-patter of rain on glass. It was soothing- in a strange kind of way- Fareeha realized, but did not dwell on it.

The Captain thought of calling Mercy out on the non-smoking, non-drinking rules in the gym, but her subconscious dragged up recollections of how their last encounter had gone and she thought twice about it, settling instead for observing the quiet woman out of the corner of her eyes as she stretched. She flicked on a single bulb over where she would be training; Mercy was most likely irritable and wouldn't take too well to having bright lamps lighting up over her head. A little voice asked her why she even cared for this woman, but of course it was only her nature to look after the well-being of her colleagues, whether they appreciated it or not- the Captain told herself. Yes. That was the extent of it. She was definitely _not_ paying particular attention to Ziegler for any other reasons whatsoever.

As she became absorbed in her training, however, she quickly lost her interest in the Doctor. It was only the occassional flick signaling Angela using her lighter to ignite a new cigarette that drew fleeting glances from Fareeha.

But all was, once again, silent. The rain's indifference was the only measure of passing time. But then again, its steady rhythm was so repetitive and constant they might as well have been stuck at 4.37 a.m for the rest of existence. The overcast sky and the air conditioning in the gym chilled Fareeha in ways she could not explain. Momentarily she, too, wished that she had brought with her some kind of jacket.

Angela exhaled, half-lidded eyes seeing little through the haze of smoke.

She liked it; the silence.

See, for all the company of each other in the lonely light, they might as well have been alone.

(break)

_The next week..._

Fareeha hated being grounded. She felt like a cooped up chicken, even, fully aware that chickens don't fly.

The monsoon season was generous. Her mother seemed rather stoked that the weather had finally given her a good excuse to laze around the firing range all day. Fuck that shit, was Fareeha's personal opinion.

As the days went by, she found that it was becoming harder and harder for her to focus on her training. For one who prided herself on her discipline, this infuriated Fareeha to no end. Unfortunately, she had no one to blame but herself- and that, too, didn't help with her mood.

The monsoon season continued harassing their region merrily with promises of heavy downpour round the clock, effectively grounding all non-emergency airborne combat operations; not that they were fighting anyone at the time. But Fareeha hated being on the ground for long; zipping through the skies in her Raptora suit was a much loved past time of hers and the rain denied her that.

As such, Captain Amari found herself spending the majority of her time when not analyzing Bernard Montgomery's 'The Second World War' at the gym, where she took her frustration out on inert metal and the like. That, with an occassional drop-in from Tracer, or Lena- as she had insisted Fareeha call her many times- when the bubbly Brit was bored out of her mind and popped in to offer her assistance as a spotter. Outside of Overwatch, Fareeha did not know the girl well, but nevertheless accepted and was grateful for the cheery presence.

Three days went by in this fashion, Fareeha slowly going insane with the lack of any action to keep her occupied.

Save for one detail.

Doctor Angela Ziegler was always there to keep her company, however- warranted or no- smoking and drinking placidly at her windowside vigil, regardless of the hour. After the first day, when two attempts at casual conversation had gone just as well as her effort at getting a verbal reply to her greetings, Fareeha had decided that maybe it would be best to ignore the Doctor altogether.

Which leads us back to Fareeha's inability to focus on her powerlifting.

As she reached the top of each deadlift, Fareeha would drop the weight. While it was considered bad form to so casually throw hundreds of pounds on the floor, she was doing it for huge sets and the combined volume would have added up to the total amount of time under tension required anyways. Case in point; Fareeha had no problem with it.

Angela, though, was a different thing altogether.

She yelped the first time it happened; the first sound Fareeha heard from her lips since the Doctor insulted her outside her quarters that day. Progressively, as Fareeha continued, she began to get the sense that she was being watched, and so she had looked up to catch narrowed baby blues pointed at her.

'Can you keep it down?', Angela had asked, the annoyance dripping from her words like alcohol on an open wound. That she was able to form a coherent sentence with what looked like four cans in her was quite impressive to Fareeha. But this was a gym.

'No.' And she continued lifting.

'Mein gott', Angela muttered, annoyed, then stood up to leave.

As she headed for the door the Captain was tempted to call her to go clean up the mess she'd made, but one look at Angela's dark expression had her rethinking that maybe she should just clean it up herself to save her from an earful.

It wasn't _that_ much, after all; a dozen crushed cans and two ashtrays overflowing with cigarette butts. Quite the legacy for the most brilliant nanotechnology researcher in the world- the snide thought crossed her mind. Maybe it was stress. That, or the Omsk mission. Or the fact that she had to put down an injured, helpless terrorist... She caught herself finding excuses for the Doctor then, and shook her head in self-disgust as she threw her attention back to the iron before her.

By the time Fareeha was done with the dead-lifting portion of her routine, Angela had come back.

She dragged a thick blanket after her, seemingly not to care whether it got dirty or not, and an inexplicable urge had Fareeha want to ask the Doctor to at least hold the thing properly.

But she held her tongue.

With no ceremony whatsoever, Angela curled up into a ball near the bench as she spun the blanket into a cocoon around her, pulled the hoodie over her blonde, white hair, and went to sleep.

Just. Like. That.

Fareeha was much quieter as she worked the weights this time, an odd tugging in her chest discouraging her from questioning why she even cared.

For there was no reasons for these feelings in her heart at all.

(break)

Fareeha Amari could swear it on her life that rain was the most annoying thing to happen to her and the world. She tossed and turned in bed, exhausted, long after the midnight hour and after seven attempts at counting sheep was no closer to the sleep that so dodgedly evaded her than when she had first laid down.

Finally, it was at 2.14 a.m on the clock that saw the Captain climb out of bed and tug on compressions before making for the only place where she might get a view of the sky; the gym and its floor-to-ceiling glass windows. No doubt, the still-pelting rain would render everything but gray and miserable, but at least it beats the monotony of staring at a loop of night time Tokyo city playing in the holographic-windows. If there was anything sadder than watching the past out of your window, Fareeha did not know it; she had no use for looking at scenery that she didn't care much for, much less that which didn't involve her.

It was all dark when she arrived, and because her eyes had adjusted she saw no reasons to turn on one of those harsh white lights. Hence, Fareeha settled for reclining on a bench as she watched the rain and tried to find what was so interesting about it that had Angela camped to watch it for almost a week already.

Absent-mindedly, her eyes drifted to the still out-of-position bench and sighed as she walked over to bring it back. For all her meticulousness on the battlefield and in the lab, the Doctor could be so disorganized and a complete slob where her personal matters or where things she would not be called out for was concerned.

It was then that Fareeha's eyes widened in surprise and she took an involuntary step back.

For there, on the floor, so still she would have been missed if one didn't know what to look for, was the Doctor herself, all curled up in that blanket of hers. It was two p.m the previous day when Fareeha last saw her, snoring away, hidden in her little cocoon of warmth.

That she was still here, half a day later, and very much asleep, caused Fareeha slight concern.

There. Again.

_Why do I even care?_

'Still sleeping, huh?', Fareeha muttered. The woman was so still it was like she barely breathed at all.

A thought blossomed in the Captain's mind making her go red in the face and she blinked rapidly as she stared at her own hands. The thought of watching Angela while she slept came off as awfully creepy to Fareeha, and yet...

'Pharah...'

She jumped so high she almost hit the low ceiling. It took all of one second for the Captain to recover as she tucked and rolled forward in a combat roll, taking cover behind the bench with the Doctor at her back as her wide eyes scanned for the source of the sound. They were in a secured compound, but to keep Overwatch operations in the area off the radar Strike Commander had employed private security. And those were unreliable at best. Even as she was hiding here, Talon operatives coul-

'...Pharah...'

Fareeha jerked as she realized that the sound was coming from _behind_ her. She turned, expecting to find dim pinpricks of light bouncing off blue eyes staring back at her.

Instead, she found the Doctor, mouth agape, hands slowly clutching at her blanket as she mewled.

_Wait what?!_

No, the Doctor didn't mewl. Her eyes were very much closed, too, and it slowly occurred to Fareeha that she might be sleep talking.

_Oh._

But who whimpers when they sleep talk? Soft mumbles escaped her hearing, drowned out by the ever-present pit-pattering of the relentless rain.

Curious to hear what Angela was saying Fareeha, despite herself, leaned in closer.

She heard the words before she saw the tears, but neither made any sense to her.

Thus, Captain Fareeha Amari sat beside her battle medic, convoluted thoughts doing backflips in her mind as little tears escaped the Doctor's closed eyelids and she whispered to whatever apparition she faced in her troubled dreams the same three words.

'Pharah I'm sorry.'

'...'

'Pharah...'

'...i'm s-sorry.'


	5. No Blurred Lines

**5\. No blurred lines**

_Operation 'Giải Phóng Miền Nam 3.0'..._

On the surface, U.N peacekeeping operations were noble. At most, coalition troops would step in, wag some guns around and play private security for a few weeks or months, or as long as it took for the political situation to stabilize so they could pull out.

It was all very dapper, really. It left a good impression of the U.N on the local folks despite the fact that most of the force usually consisted of trainees having their egoes blown by citizens who were sometimes not even clear on why they needed a peace-keeping force in the first place. Sometimes, entire operations went by without a single safety being flipped.

But before the peacekeepers could step in, covert operations had to be deployed to crush any opposition to whatever local authority was allied with the U.N at the time. And that is which was how Captain Fareeha Amari found herself knee-deep in the mud as she trudged through the jungles of Quãng Nam, in the south of Vietnam, visor up to alleviate some of the stifling heat.

She and her strike team of eleven were all that had been requisitioned to go up against a force that was estimated to be upwards of two hundred guerilLa fighters and a few dozen old- but combat-ready Omnics. Not that Fareeha minded; with Mercy at her back she had gone up against more and won, so the inevitable battle was the least of her concerns at the moment.

The climate, on the other hand...

The tropics were hell; continuous rain brought threats of malaria, and even with modern medicine's ability to easily quell those old illnesses the sheer heat was sapping the troops' energy almost as much as whatever opposition they would have to face, and then some.

The foliage was so thick it was like twilight under the tall canopy, and the thickly entwined nature of vegetation rendered hers and Angela's flight capability essentially useless. Not usually one to question her orders, Fareeha- despite herself- found her thoughts turned towards questioning the strategic soundness of sending two of the most- no, _the_ two most effective airborne combatants in Overwatch's arsenal into the middle of a potential firefight with their wings effectively clipped.

Surely someone had forseen this, because...

U.N High Command had appraised their battle records and seen that with Fareeha in the air to rain down her rocket barrage and Angela to patch her up and send her back in should she take fatal damage, the combination of the two was essentially a two-woman mobile airstrike platform that was capable of infinite self-sustain; save for the ammo concerns. Thus, half of their companions carried spare rockets for Fareeha only, trading precious food supplies for an extra few Helix missiles that they were convinced would win any fights. With line-of-sight airstrike capability packed into so mobile a package- no carriers were needed, no aircraft needed refueling, no service crew to look after billion dollar bomber planes- the duo had quickly become the go-to option whenever strike teams were needed to locate, triangulate and exterminate a whole group of people. Omsk, Mozambique, Shenzhen, Science in Kentucky; Fareeha had been there already.

While it meant she got to see a lot of the world, much of the places she visited ended up as smoking ruins upon her departure and Fareeha didn't particularly appreciate nor care much for _that_ kind of tourism.

It was the reassuring feel of her rocket launcher in her sweaty hands that tugged Fareeha back to the present as Nikola, who had taken point, signaled for them to halt.

A reconnaissance droid flitted out of the dark canopy above, veering straight for them, the soft sound of its wings blending in almost perfectly with the drone and buzz ambient sounds of the tropical jungle. Returning to a port on Nikola's outstretched hand, it whirred and beeped as it synced data with his armor before a little holographic display lit up above his wrist and the strike team gathered round to see what the scout had seen.

Just as Mercy squatted before them, the Raven-detector strapped to Chris's back let out a warning chirp and a few members of the the strike team hesitated as their eyes darted around. Sidearms were whipped out and Mercy nervously thumbed buttons on her Caduceus staff; the messy noise of the jungle made the sounds of an imminent _something_ obscured and it was impossible to pinpoint the direction of approach. In the second it took for Fareeha to train her sights on the mangroves parting at the edge of the clearing the distress chirping of the Raven rose to a feverous pitch as its proximity alarms went crazy.

Chris struggled to reach behind her and thumb off the Raven; Fareeha had signaled quickly with two air slashes past her throat to go silent and the team attempted to fan out even as two Bastions crashed past the submerged trees, laser sights already online and murderously seeking.

Time slowed into liquid jell-o and the powerful whirr of the crystal matrix activating occupied Fareeha's ear for a tenth of a second, signalling the powerful blue beam now no doubt now linking the back of her Raptora to Mercy's Caduceus staff. Power surged through her, filling her with energy to the very finger tips- all thanks to the work of Mercy. A thousand details hit her like a cold shock of water but she was used to it and let her senses open fully.

In a single smooth motion so fast the human eye would have struggled to see, Fareeha's rocket launcher was dropped to hang loose from its straps and the smaller- but no less damaging- Heckler and Koch Model thirty-five was hefted, leveled, aimed, and let loose on the Omnics.

Time froze. But only for a heartbeat.

And then bullets were zipping past her to shred at the foliage around, barely missing the armored visor by inches. Someone else was not so lucky, as Fareeha heard a strangled gurgle from behind- the clear sound of someone choking on their own blood as their windpipe was ruptured. In the next nine-tenth of a second Fareeha was tempted to turn around and make sure that her Doctor was uninjured. Alas, this was one course of action circumstances did not allow. While some of the operatives tried to remain calm a few others; probably the ones who'd been hit, were screaming their heads off into the coms channel. Diving behind a tangle of gnarled roots that looked like they could hold up two shots at best, Fareeha switched off her earpiece in annoyance.

Fifty-caliber rounds churned up dirt and chipped off tree barks, making panicked birds let out alarmed squeaks and took flight in the canopy above as several figures in green fatigues burst out of cover yelling as they pointed muzzles at Fareeha's team and pulled triggers without aiming. Her much more organized soldiers were making short work of the crazy few who chose to charge at them with only their shout for armor and no ballistic shields.

'EMP away! Down down down!', Chris yelled as her Raven spat two sticky bombs at the turret Bastions and Fareeha dove forward onto the mushy ground, feeling what was probably Mercy landing right behind her.

The insurgents stared, confused, as the stasis orbs hovered almost harmlessly above their battle droids.

And then _p-zwwwww!_ as the EMPs detonated, shorting out the Bastions' circuitry and whatever electronic gear was at eye-height. The Bastion units creaked as they paused mid-fire and drooped. Before their Gatling guns could even power down completely Fareeha was already up and moving, sights trained on the nearest hostile. Emilia and Michael let their presence be known with two bright red mists erupting from two insurgents' heads, the powerful report of their high-powered sniper rifles muffled to dull _thud!_ s with the foot long silencers. Now almost twenty fatigues-covered corpses lay, still warm, round the defunct Bastions. But Fareeha knew that it wasn't enough; not yet.

She pulled her trigger but felt a click and cursed herself for overlooking that little detail; in her rush she had forgotten to switch firing mode from full-auto to semi-auto and now she had sprayed away all her ammo. Grunting, the Captain crouched down again as her fingers groped for that ammo pouch.

'Mercy!', someone yelled as she broke out of cover again. Out of the corner of her eye Fareeha saw a twitching form on the ground. She had no time to look, but silently wished they would be okay. A slug hit her right where her solar plexus would have been and Fareeha staggered, but her Raptora held and she had her sights locked on the perpetrator to dispense metal justice before the olive-skinned man could even have the time to regret his folly. All around her, people were falling. While the number of hostiles were dwindling to almost zero, at least three operatives had fallen, and Fareeha was fully aware that their little party couldn't tolerate any losses. Thus, as a dozen or more fresh combatants burst out of the undergrowth with primitive yells and charged at them she gunned the lot down and ordered a tactical retreat to higher ground. Smarter now, the enemy took cover behind the metal husks of their armored units and fired blindly over the top.

Fareeha recognized borrowed time when she saw it.

With hesitant steps the now eight-man party hastily tore dog tags and took backpacks from their dead and began inching their way out of the blasted clearing while under scattered fire.

The enemy would have none of it, however.

'Bắt hết bọn nó ngay bây giờ!', shouted mutiple men as they began leaving cover to give chase.

_Fools_ , Fareeha thought as she and the strike team sharp shooters dispatched the four zealots with single, center-of-mass shots, _just because we are pulling back doesn't mean we can't shoot our pursuers._

'Flashbang!', yelled Vladimir as he hurled the grenade at the mob.

'Smoke away!', called Emilia as a she let another cannister fly. With heads down they began hot-footing it out of the battlefield, the enemy too disoriented to give chase, at least for the moment.

As Nikola- who had taken point once again, dispensed with subtlety and instead now slashed at the vegetation with dual machetes to clear a path fast Fareeha took up the rear guard, HK levelled at whatever might come after them from behind. Silently, she berated herself for the loss of three of her men, and women. But she also knew the only way to make their deaths worthwhile would be to complete the mission. Indeed, the only way to make all their lives worthwhile.

Christine fumbled with a box-sized contraption in her hands before attaching said object to a big tree they'd just passed.

'Sentry turret online', she announced as a single red laser shot forth from the static defense, scanning the path behind them. The group slowed down long enough for Chris to arm the ammunitions box, and then they were on their way again, Fareeha's scanning eyes on the back of Mercy's Valkyrie suit, if for no other reason than because her wings were the only source of soft, golden light in the approaching darkness of the wet, humid jungle of Vietnam .

(break)

After the longest night of evading reconaissance and back-tracking mutiple times, they struck at dawn.

Michael and Emilia opened with flash bangs right into the middle of the peacefully sleeping village. Amidst the screams of blinded people, the rest of them strode out of the cover of the foliage, guns blazing as they gunned down every living souls in sight. Mercy's soft golden glow was like their own sun rising at their back. Perimeter guards were gurgling blood and clasping at thin air as they saw a sight right out of their nightmares.

Point defense drones were deployed at their flanks as Emi and Mike bludgeoned Vietnamese men to seize the elevated, rickety wooden watch towers at the village's peripherals to establish sniper support for the main group while they continued destroying everything in their path. Panicked cries reverbrated throughout the large clearing as the riflers burst into flimsy wooden huts and brought death with them on cold slugs of metal, right into the olive-skinned bodies of these Vietnamese insurgents.

As they emerged into the clearing the distinct click-clack of re-configuring Bastions could be heard; several of them. Taking in the sight of the wide open sky above the dozens of make-shift dwellings, Fareeha engaged her thrusters and shot off the ground, visor down as her combat A.I immediately started pinpointing targets. Power filled her, and the Captain didn't need to look to know that she had Mercy at her back, giving her the damage-amplifier she so gladly welcomed.

As Fareeha reached ideal height- from where she could see all the roused insurgents stumbling out of their homes with half-open shirts and unloaded guns, she spread her wings and aimed for the centre of the masses. They had lost too much already, and Pharah was unwilling to lose even one more woman or man to these rebels. What had to be done, _had_ to be done.

Too late, a few of the opposition spotted her and attempted to raise their rifles to the sky, firing wildly.

'Justice rains from above!'

The Captain laid waste to all of them. At least it would be quick and painless, or so she hoped.

At the edge of the explosions a little figure ran out from one of the crumbling shelters, clearly headed for the safety and cover of the jungles. Before her mind could assess the situation her hands were already doing what they had been trained to do from muscle memory and Fareeha already had her HK.35 pointed at the target's receding back.

A single shot was fired. The seven-year-old girl sprawled headfirst onto the ground, fist-sized hole punched into her spine.

Blood began pooling.

Horror claimed her heart, rocket thrusters had her back on the ground in seconds and Fareeha was running towards the twitching corpse before she truly knew what she was doing. Her operators swept through the scattered resistance like a flood, leaving death in their wakes.

_No. No no no._

_Oh god, no..._

A bedraggled man beat her to it.

_No. Not again._

He had an apron around him, and he wore dirty olive-colored slacks. Going by the epaulet on his arm Fareeha assumed he was a medic, or a doctor. His eyes went from the dead girl to Fareeha, then back to the dead girl.

Before her shocked eyes the man leaned down and shook the girl's limp body roughly as he wailed, crying.

Fareeha had never seen men cry before.

Turning to her with a look of pure hatred, causing the Captain to take an involuntary step back, he began yelling loudly in Vietnamese.

'Tại sao? Tại sao mày giết con tao? TẠI SAO?'

Was he asking why? He was definitely asking why. She didn't understand the language, but the question mark in his voice was unmistakable.

She raised her hands, retreating, as he fumbled behind him for something. It might have been a gun, it migh-

'-TẠI SA-

Bang.

Father came to rest beside daughter in the dirt as her gaze followed, uncomprehending, an invisible line from the dead man to Angela's shaking hand, the gun held awkwardly in her grasp.

Red stained the ground, two spurts like blossoms lying side by side.

Fareeha's breath hitched in her throat as she stared at the dead family at her feet.

'The mission', Mercy croaked, eyes a storm.

'T-the... mission?', Pharah heard someone rasp; probably herself.

Mercy walked away, trembling. Her Caduceus staff was nowhere to be seen.

Staring down at her own hands, Captain Fareeha Amari saw... blood. Why was there blood on her hands? She hadn't touched anyone physically yet. Right?

It was all around her.

There was blood everywhere. Dead insurgents lay sprawled in various positions, like as if they had had their souls ripped from them.

The report of a final sniper short echoed hollowly in Fareeha's ears and a yelp was cut off somewhere behind her back as Nikola announced the area secure at last.

'Mission success', Mercy's words rang over the team coms. It was cracked, 'let's get back to the LZ folks.'

'Why...?', Fareeha muttered, the man's words ringing hollow in her ears. The HK.36 dangled loosely from its straps, banging gently against her armored thigh like a constant reminder that _hey you used me to kill a little girl, yes you. You did it. You pointed me you pulled the trigger y-_

'We did what we had to do.'


	6. Broken Wings

**6\. Broken Wings**

_Present day..._

'I feel so fat now', Angela whined as she buried her head in Fareeha's lap. Giving her girlfriend a curious glance over the dog-eared pages of her current most favorite book- Tolstoy's War and Peace- Fareeha hmphed, patted the blonde head of hair, and went back to her reading.

As she felt the caviar from last night churn in her belly, Mercy concluded that she might have just eaten a _little_ too much.

'Ughhh... mein liebling~', Angela whimpered as she began squirming like a dune cat, tickling her partner down... there.

'What are you doing?'

'I'm sulking', her Doktor muttered cutely, then paused. 'I'm also... hungry for some weird reasons', she decided.

'What's wrong with you?', Fareeha poked her Doktor's side playfully as she set her book down and began tracing faint lines over exposed skin, quickly earning yips and mews for her efforts.

'I'm afflicted with a certain condition...', her Doktor breathed as she let calloused hands wander to the hems of her large shirt.

'What is it?', Fareeha asked absent-mindedly, attention elsewhere.

'It's a case of being hopelessly in love with you~'

'Hmm... and?'

'I', Angela gasped as the warm digits felt up her cool stomach, '-i prescribe myself plenty of bed rest...'

'Yes?'

'...with you, of course.'

'Heh', Fareeha smirked as her hands finally found perky breasts. She fondled them in her palms and nipped gently at Angela's exposed nape, just enjoying, as her Doktor leaned fully into her. She loved how she could make her partner melt; it was a particular talent of hers.

'I suppose I must comply then... because, uh, Doctor's orders?'

'Yes', Angela's breath hitched, 'Doctor's orders.'

'It's', her Doktor added, 'the only way.'

With Angela still on her lap Fareeha simply stood up, Tolstoy's masterpiece forgotten, and carried the lucky girl bridal style to their bedroom.

'Eeee!', her Doktor squealed as they hit the sheets together.

Wild, vivacious sex was had.

(break)

It was almost half past midnight when they both woke up at the same time. Fareeha shivered under the two blankets, even with wide-awake, very-warm Angela, spooned into her.

There was that mood in the air again and Fareeha desperately prayed to sleep to drag her under, to take her away. It was so soul-rending, so... tiring, sometimes she wished there would be a button to stop it all. No wonder rates of death by suicide in PTSD-afflicted Helix personnel were so high; the Captain wasn't even in physical suffering but already wanted to just die from all the nightmares keeping her awake, if it wasn't for her Doktor...

The clock read zero-dark-thirty.

'Try to sleep, mein liebling', Angela whispered to the air as she held the hand wrapped round her waist. The touching sensations were conveyed to her brain via electrical impulses, and they felt... light. Difficult to describe to the non-prosthetic users, an adequate picture to keep in mind might to imagine what touching would feel like underwater; relatively transient! As it was, while Fareeha could actually have her prosthetics changed weekly if she so wished- nothing less for the heroic Captain, and especially after Kurdistan- something made her want to keep this pair.

Perhaps it had a thing to do with the fact that she first wore her engagement ring on this particular pair of prosthetics. Perhaps.

Try to sleep? Angela's quiet plea came back to her.

'I can't', Fareeha whispered back, somehow none of them wanting to speak up normally. It was almost like as if speaking loudly might hasten the approach of dawn, something neither of them wanted as the couple's minds both drifted to a place not too far, far back, at this exact hour, 'you know. If I close my eyes now, I see her...'

'Mein gott...'

'But Ang-'

'-i must keep telling you... it wasn't your fault', Angela sounded strained, like she was on the verge of tears already.

Fareeha turned her head to look at the ceiling like as if she would find the answers to her pressing issues painted there like a Michaelangelo's.

If she closed her eyes now, Fareeha could swear she would see a scared woman scrambling backwards before the activating thermal lances of a towering Colossi.

'It wasn't your fault.'

'Yeah.'

They lapsed into an uncomfortable silence for a short while, with neither really knowing what to do or say to break it. They were both rather naked, and the feeling of skin on skin _was_ nice. That also meant she felt her Doktor tremble softly in her hug.

Damn it all.

Fareeha's heart was equally torn, but she did not cry; the Captain expressed her emotional distress in other ways. Angela continued, 'she would have forgiven you by now, but y-you have yet to forgive yourself!'

'Maybe', she mumbled into her Doktor's hair. A sigh met her attempts at nuzzling. Truthfully, if she could escape this ditch herself, Fareeha would. Alas, such trauma were rarely meant to be conquered alone or- even together, as they were both finding out for themselves.

'I thought I saved her, you know?'

'I know. You told me that already', Angela whispered softly as she pulled Fareeha's strong arm further around her, 'damn it all. Just go back to sleep.'

'I thought...', Fareeha paused, gulping, '-I thought she would stay back.'

Living fingers entwined with bionic ones. Fareeha felt her Doktor give her a gentle squeeze.

'It's war. Chris knew what she was getting into.'

For the first time in months, Fareeha wished that it would rain so she could focus on the sounds and flee her train of thoughts. Pity, the night was still and cold, and the howling winds in the distance sounded too much like dying screams for her comfort at that moment in time.

'I guess...'

'It's war, mein liebling', Angela attempted to soothe her, 'and war... war is heck.'

War is heck? Hmm, Fareeha stopped to ponder. Did she die? Plenty. Was she hurt? Most likely. But it didn't bother Fareeha a lot. She was still here, after all. She was still alive and, if not fully operational, at least sane. A sorrowful pang struck her heart as Fareeha's thoughts drifted for, sadly, the same couldn't be said for widowed, crazy Emi. Since the desert debacle and the demise of her then wife-to-be, she had completely shattered and been doomed to live out the rest of her tortured days in one of Overwatch's rehabilitation facilities in the Isle of Man. Not that she could have ever recovered; calling it a rehab facility was a cruel lie told to everyone and believed by no one. Up until August, Angela and her had paid frequent visits. The last they had seen of Emi was of the former sniper; broken, prone on the cold linoleum floor, bawling her eyes out.

There were no tears, of course; she was much too dehydrated for that.

Her poor mind had mistaken Angela for her dead lover- again- and Fareeha had had to do the thankless task of prying the emaciated girl off her Doktor by force.

Angela's last words echoed in her mind. About war. About how war was... heck. Was war heck? Fareeha stopped breathing to wonder.

Was war heck? Really.

Her Doktor squeezed her hand tighter, and Fareeha was grateful for the fact that she was still alive to feel such warmth from her love.

'Yes.'

Maybe pretending she was fine would solve everything. Maybe that was the key to a better life. They could do it together; she had her Angela. Fareeha shut her eyes tight, forcing herself to sleep.

'I suppose it is.'

(break)

_Indian Ocean, 230 miles out from Helicarrier U.S.S Indiana, 573 miles from landfall..._

'Probe six to Mommacore, Probe six to Mommacore, status report o-three-hundred hour; all clear. ETA forty minutes. Over.'

Static.

'Probe six to Mommacore. Do you read? Over.'

'Mommacore to Probe six', a soft, feminine voice broke above the hiss of jumbled radio waves, 'we see your signal. Confirm no foreign signatures in the area. Over.'

'ETA forty minutes. Do you read? Over.'

More static, before Cynthia's voice spoke to them again.

'Copy that. Make it home safe boys. Mommacore over and out.'

'Copy that, Mom.'

Nikola sighed as he flipped off the coms switch and turned his attention back to fiddling with the control panel. Not that there was anything to do; the onboard A.I, Stalin, had everything under control and their Banshee practically flew on auto-pilot as evidenced by Alexei, snoring serenely next to him, sprawled out in the co-pilot chair.

Angela occupied the seat to Fareeha's immediate left, busying herself with finding what seemed to be immense interest in the fact that she had opposable thumbs. The Doctor had not spoken two words since they left Vietnamese airspace, the only things she said being 'Danke' as a frowning Chris handed her back her grimy Caduceus staff. Despite the nervous fidgeting, it was rather easy to tell something weighed heavy on her heart, so the Captain left her alone to dwell on that. For Fareeha, too, still had images of certain dead folks haunting her every time she closed her eyes. No matter how tired she was, the Captain could not doze off. What Fareeha would give now for a good, bitter cup of black coffee... As the Banshee lifted off she had taken off her HK with disgust and slammed it back onto the rack rather aggressively. But Fareeha knew that no amount of lying to herself would erase the fact that _she_ pulled the trigger. The weapon was just a tool. The weapon was blameless. Indeed, what she would give to have washed it all away...

Opposite her, Emilia and Christine clung onto each other as they slept, the raven head of hair tussled with the blonde one. In their sleep, their hands had found each other, and were now entwined. Vlad played some action game on a tablet as he squatted with his back to the Hellfire missile crates, shooting derisive looks at the sleeping gals every now and then if for no other reasons than because he was Russian. According to the machine-gunner, in Mother Russia _woman in love with woman iz unnatural, yez_. They all snorted at that.

Despite herself having the position of team leader and technically being an officer whose responsibility included the crackdown on and snuffing out of fraternization within the ranks, Fareeha simply couldn't find it in her to disturb the lovebirds.

Entertaining thoughts even remotely related to the couple made Fareeha question her own sexual orientation and, perhaps more importantly , she secretly found it adorable for the Japanese sniper to be with the American combat engineer. There was something about young love that tugged at her heart strings and, furthermore, the two made a great team.

So Fareeha let them be.

Michael was passed out on the floor, two cargo straps holding him in place so he wouldn't roll in his sleep and hurt himself. The giant of a man had a tattered paperback; _Catcher in the Rye_ , draped over his bulbous nose like some sort of sleeping aid. For a beast who squatted four _hundred_ pounds for reps, ate rare steaks for _desserts_ and took great joy in hunting big game, he was awfully in love with art, literature and, brace yourself, ballet. Was Michael secretly a six year old girl? Fareeha didn't really know.

He was almost like the Reinhardt of their strike team, except he carried a small and long gun and not a big hammer and wasn't, ahem, compensating much. Not that she would know, of course...

Jackson and Jack, the Chinese twins, or Yin and Yang- Vlad called them Wing and Wang for some reasons- were going through the motions of cleaning their rifles for the umpteenth time as they communicated in their native tongue, their expressions light, betraying little. A part of her was tempted to tell them that the rifles couldn't possibly get any cleaner even if you oiled it seven times but then again, hey, everyone had their ways of coping with combat stress, so once again Fareeha relented.

From the overhead netting, Igor, Li and Tia's dog tags hung; a constant reminder for the team of what had been lost to achieve such a decisive end to their mission. It only made her sad.

Her straying eyes again fell on Angela and she inhaled softly. Fareeha couldn't help but admire the vision of beauty before her because, regardless of her orientation- or lack thereof- _was_ beautiful. Her blonde hair went so well with her halo-like antenna coms, her facial features were simply perfectly well-proportioned, and the VSSR hugged her body in all the right places, doing deserving justice.

She could watch her all day.

Her shameless ogling did not go unnoticed, however, and Captain Fareeha Amari's pupils dilated like that of a deer caught in the headlights as Angela caught her stare and quirked one tired eyebrow in her direction.

'I-'

'Hey!', Nikola called, interrupting her, 'ladies and chinamen, you wanna see the sun rise? Come to the front, ja?'

'I'm not chinaman', Vlad mumbled .

'Yeh you are a bear-fucker', was his countryman's witty reply.

'Cyka...', Vlad muttered under his breath, but got up and walked over to the front anyways, his video game forgotten.

Fareeha followed him, eager to see the sun rise, too, if only to distract herself from the convoluted thoughts in her head.

As she watched the orb of gold climb its way over the horizons, she felt, rather than heard, Angela come beside her. The Swisswoman let out a breath of awe as she, too, was enraptured by the breath-taking sight.

'Ah...', Angela muttered. Something made Fareeha wish the Doctor would brush her shoulder; rest her hand on it as they watched light break together. Something... she didn't know. Ziegler inhaled.

'The dawn has arrived.'

(break)

_Central Kurdistan..._

'Sentry turret erected!', Chris yelled, voice strained as she peeked over the gutted sandbag, 'Nikola move move move!'

'I'm pinned down!', he yelled back, retracting a foot just in time for a bullet to _ping!_ the exact spot where it had been. Besides him, Vlad stared vacantly up at the clear blue sky with a frozen smile on his lips, dried blood coating the entirety of his upper torso, 'that's not cover fire!'

He paused, thinking, as high velocity rounds punched into Vlad's unmanned machine gun, shredding it and rendering it effectively crap.

'That's not even halfway decent suppressing fire! Where's that airstrike they promised us?'

'Ah, ETA fifte-ARGHH!'

Christine fell onto her back and screamed as the Colossi smashed through the rusted shed, knocking her into a ditch, and reared itself up on its two front legs and as it turned its massive head towards her. Terrified, the American attempted to backpedal away from the towering Omnic's activating thermal lances and what was surely certain death.

Then rockets slammed into the side if its antenna, causing the massive machine to tilt. With the speed of a meteor Fareeha flew into the Colossi, twisting her body at the last second so her feet would hit it first. Knocked off balance, it tittered precariously on its tripedal legs. Out of nowhere a car-sized boulder flew at its front joint, giving the Colossi the last push it needed to fall. Turning a shocked gaze to behind her, Chris saw grinning Michael clambering atop the clearly-hacked husk of an Omnic Immortal.

'Thank you', she mouthed.

'I return to serve!', he shouted as the masssive plasma canon on its left 'arm' discharged dinner plate sized missiles at the hordes of human-Omnic terrorists, momentarily keeping them at bay.

Power surged through her, and Chris watched in awe as her bruises disappeared and turning once more, looking up, to see Mercy in the sky.

'Heroes never die!'

'Fuck shit', growled Vlad as he clambered to his feet and looked around blearily, 'where is my gun?'

Fareeha landed besides her, concern etched on her pursed lips under her armored visor as she held her rocket launcher in hand, pointed in the general direction of the enemy.

'Are you okay?', the Captain asked her.

'I am', Christine muttered as she took in the sight of the make-shift fortifications getting nearly blown off the surface of the earth by the U.N Vikings. The air-to-surface missiles blew truck-sized holes in the massive earthen walls of what had become to be known, or rather code-name designated, as Sand Castle, and even from more than a click away Chris could see numerous panicked figures hopping off crumbling static defenses, scrambling like ants as they fled for the relative safety of their town hall . Finishing their fly-bys, the half-dozen Vikings did a loop over the battlefield and shot out back to sea, the lead fighter-bomber's wings slightly tipped in acknowledgement of the friendly forces' presence.

Apparently sensing the turn in the tides of battle, the Omnic Sentry units laid down a ring of forcefields to cut off the main U.N thrust from advancing even one more inch. Scattered, uncoordinated fire attempted to pin Fareeha's troops down, to little effect; Michael, Emilia, and platoon sharp shooters from other strike teams made short work of the stragglers who showed their heads. They were quickly gone, however, and smoke was laid by the Talon-backed guerillas and they no doubt set up minefields and booby traps along the way as they beat a hasty retreat to their crumbling fortress. At the Captain's command, the revived remnants of the Delta Six and Seven through Thirteen converged on the massive Colossi-carved ruts in the ground to regroup and plan the next step of their operations to vanquish the Central Kurdistan Freedom Fighters.

Night began falling and temperatures dropped rapidly in the desert as Mercy finally landed after four grueling hours of flying to and fro healing wherever she was needed.

Coming to stand beside the commanding officer of the entire operation, she lightly tapped the armored shoulder of the Egyptian and, as Fareeha turned to her, asked.

'Do we strike at dawn?'

The Captain was silent for a short moment, eyes distant as the last of blood-red light disappeared with the setting desert sun. With so much traps between them and Sand Castle, Fareeha knew Christine and her compatriots would require at least a few hours to clear a safe path through the mines. Vlad was wrenching a plasma canon off Michael's busted immortal; she failed to see how he could wield the ninety-pounds armament effectively in combat. Mercy's gaze never left her face as she stood there and ruminated.

'No', looking at the Doctor, she said, 'we commence offense past midnight.'

'We will attack at zero-dark-thirty.'

(break)

'No!', Pharah screamed as she felt her left thruster fail her. Inside the armor, klaxons blared like there was no tomorrow.

' _Losing altitude. Warning. Losi-'_

'-shut up. Shut up! I know!',she yelled to no one as she began free-falling, bullets finding their marks on the pock-marked exterior of her Raptora now that her ability to perform evasive maneuvers had been effectively removed.

'No', she pleaded to whatever deity would listen, using whatever fuel was left in her reserves to at least aim for Chris.

Chris, who was starting to waddle in a pool of her own blood. Chris, who was crying breathlessly because she had three holes in her lungs and she knew she would never be able to reach a hospital in time.

'Ugh-gl h-hulp', the dying girl gasped, 'hulp m...m-mee...'

_Please._ Fareeha prayed even as Omnic Sentry began tagging her with their energy beams; she wasn't too worried about that- Sentries did insignificant damage and tickled at most.

But Chris! No one else but her could reach Christine!

And even then, that hope, too, was dashed as she crashed headfirst into a pile of sandbags a few dozen feet from where she had to be.

The girl's barely discernible gurgles drew the attentions of an Omnic Immortal and Fareeha watched in horror as it began waddling over to investigate the dying human.

She could fire her rocket launcher, but at this distance there were next to no guarantees that the explosion wouldn't kill Chris as well.

There was nothing she could do...


	7. How We Fall

**7\. How We Fall**

White-washed surroundings, sharp antiseptic. The smell of lingering disinfectants was... everywhere.

Beep.

'I can't feel my hands', she muttered, open eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.

Beep.

She was... soft. But in the stillness, a few decibels were all she needed to be heard. At least that's what Fareeha told herself.

Beep.

Silence, save for sparse soft beeps and slight tinkling of the IV drip being changed as the raven-haired girl gave her a quick glance.

'I... i can't feel my legs either.'

Beep.

The air-conditioning was a little faulty; the soft _pfff_ of a clearly overworked cooling fan gave it away.

The nurse kept her head down, eyes averted.

Beep.

'Look at me.'

The poor woman had no choice but to comply. Even then, she kept her gaze off to the side, aimed at Fareeha's pillow- close enough to look but not actually close enough to _see_. It would have been immediately obvious to the outside observer what, or rather the _absence_ of what, she was avoiding.

Beep.

'Tell me.'

Beeps in the still air. Fareeha, quiet, morose; expectant. The girl, actually more like a barely young-woman, struggling to keep her calm; trepidated.

'... t-tell you what, Captain?'

Beep.

'Tell me why I cannot feel my arms or my legs.'

'Capt-'

'Please', she cut her off, 'Fareeha will do.'

Beep.

'W-well... Fareeha I'm afrai-'

'-no.'

She looked at her.

'W-what?'

'Don't tell me you don't have the authority to pass an observation and would therefore need a Doctor', Fareeha sighed as she closed her eyelids and, upon feeling like that put a huge ball of lead against her eyeballs, had them fluttering open again.

Beep.

'Um...'

'Just tell me the truth. What do you see?'

Silence.

Fareeha's patience was beginning to wear thin.

'Come on. Say it', she came out sounding much more bitter than she wanted to, but Fareeha didn't care.

Beep.

'Tell me what you see. What's so hard about that?', she demanded.

'Captain I-'

'-it's Fareeha! Fareeha, damn it! I have a name!', she unexpectedly yelled at the nurse, who took an involuntary step back, 'what the fuck is wrong with you? I am your superior and I demand you answer me right this second!'

She cowered under the Egyptian's harsh glare and tried to turn away.

That little gesture didn't go unnoticed by Fareeha.

'Ha', she chuckled bitterly, 'why are you backing away from me. What are you scared of?'

The nurse shook her head no vigorously, eyes continuously darting to the door, like as if she was calculating how many seconds she would need to make a run for it.

Lips were moving. As if to say no, no, no.

'Answer me goddammit! What are you even scared of?!', she screamed at the poor girl who looked to be on the verge of tears by now, 'you think I can hurt you?'

Her merciless questions like gunshots in the air.

'I can't get up! I'm bedridden!'

Driving the girl further into her corner.

'I don't even have arms and legs!'

The truth. Hard. Heavy. Debilitating.

Holding her hands over her ears the nurse sobbed and slid to the floor with her back against the wall as she tried to block out the sounds of Fareeha's screaming.

'Speak !', Fareeha screeched, the reading of her vitals beeping furiously along with her elevated heart beats.

But she didn't care.

The girl continued crying, and that made Fareeha even more angry. Why were everyone around her fucking sob-bags these days, and how dare the nurse cry; if someone had the right to, it was her! After all, it was her lying on the hospital bed, not the nurse! What intarnation...

Fareeha exhaled, feeling herself deflate as she did so. It was pointless, really. But she had to know.

'Please...', she lowered her voice, pleaded, 'just... tell me.'

Whimpers. Whimpers so miserable. Fuck it. Fuck it all to hell.

'Come on...', she spoke, the exhaustion creeping into her voice as it finally, and suddenly, dawned on Fareeha just how _tired_ she was. If her adrenaline bled away right now she would have had trouble trying to stay awake. The nurse sniffed, trying to regain her composure, as she realized Fareeha wasn't yelling anymore. 'It's a simple enough question'. Fareeha sounded weary. 'Do I still have arms and legs. Yes or no.'

She waited as the girl collected herself, breath held. Her uniform had ridden up her thighs and then some, but Fareeha's eyes went right past that. Took in the Medical Corps insigna. The little clothes-hanger on the wall. The nurse's lips; anything to keep Fareeha grounded in the present as she watched. Waited. She took a shaky breath. Then:

'No.'

The Captain laughed bitterly at the ceiling, her eyes brimming so quickly she had to blink multiple times to get rid of the tears. With her suspicions confirmed, Fareeha felt a strange sense of lightness. Why? She didn't really know. Regret nipped at her conscience as she saw her flustered caretaker retract a clipboard from the foot of her bed.

Beep.

All was silent like sunshine after a vicious drizzle had come and gone. But in real life, there were not often rainbows...

Beep.

'You may go.'

The girl didn't need to be told twice, and got up to leave, head hung low.

'T-thank you', Fareeha called after her.

The nurse; her name tag read Ana, turned at the doorway, and looked at her eyes for the first time. It looked like she, too, was struggling to hold back fresh tears as dark brown orbs met amber ones.

Beep.

'I'm sorry, Captain.'

Soft breathing.

Beep.

Fareeha just stared at her. Ana was the name, she noted. Cute. Like a porcelain doll. Also, easily broken. Alas...

'I truly am.'

Beep.

The door swung shut with a gentle _click_ , leaving Fareeha with her thoughts, the beeps and- let's not forget- the faulty air conditioner.

And the sincere condolences of a stranger.

That, too.

(break)

When the words began to all look the same was when Angela decided she might have done enough work for the day.

Not that, really, there had been any real work to do.

She had just been shuffling paper for a few hours and... that was it.

Tedium became Angela.

The smokes that she had sneaked along had long been used up; the last time she had had a good one had been the end of Vietnam, at which point she'd been a literal chimney from the devastation of the village all the way back to the landing zone where their cloaked banshee laid in wait. Since then, between jerking chains on the U.S.S Indiana and calling in favours she didn't have from the local staff, Angela had managed to procure herself a healthy enough stash to keep her mind light and fleeting lest her thoughts drift to the white-covered people lying prone on stainless steel tables in the morgue just to her office's left. _Mein gott._

She smirked a mirthless smirk to no one in particular as she looked to make sure her door was locked before opening the bottom drawer.

Angela sighed.

That they even made it out of Sandcastle was a miracle, and her eyes briefly fell on the three-inch scar along the back of her right hand as she tilted her head and downed a shot of some disgustingly slick local 'wine'.

The Doctor drank herself silly in non-plussed silence for a good ten minutes.

The liquid courage made her feel dizzy, but sadly, she wasn't drunk. If anything, the alcohol only made Angela feel... hot. Night was falling outside and, with it, the rapid decline in temperature. That meant the on-base bars might be open anytime now. Pulling at the collar of her button-up shirt as she dug out her phone from her khaki shorts to check the time, Angela began to get a vague idea of exactly what she needed to do to take her mind off the disaster that was Kurdistan, still so easy to recall it might as well have been imprinted onto her flesh.

She took another shot of the vile fluid as she mentally prescribed her own medicine.

Yes.

That would do.

What Angela Ziegler needed was a good fuck.

(break)

Clothes lay strewn on the floor. Hungry, seeking hands found delightfully slim waists.

'D-doctor...',the girl gasped as her neck was relentlessly nibbled on by the Swisswoman, 'ahh...'

'Call me Angela', she found the time to speak in between trailing wet, sloppy kisses down to the girl's delicious breasts. She descended on them with zeal, aggressively licking and sucking at a turgid nipple until her victim had no choice but to moan and try to push her away because of the over-stimulation.

But Ziegler was merciless.

Grabbing the girl's wrists, she pinned them above her head with her superior leverage and assaulted sensitive skin once more. The ecstatic, pained squeals were music to her ears, prompting Angela to drive her knee repeatedly against her victim's clit.

'Nu-ughh', she gasped. It was hard to tell whether she was in pleasure or in pain. There were tears in little Ana's eyes, 'n-no...'

'Yes...', Angela breathed into her ear as she felt the girl begin humping desperately against her, desperate for that release, mewling like an excited little kitty. So weak. So easily manipulated. But truly, also, how lovely. That, too.

Deciding finally that she had entertained her toy for long enough, Angela began pulling herself up and up, until she straddled the girl's face.

'Pleasure me.'

It was a command, and not a suggestion, as she began forcing herself down on her lover.

'Be the good nurse that you are, and make your Doctor feel good.'

Her hips bucked as her good girl got to work.

Angela moaned to the ceiling, heavily-lidded eyes rolling into the back of her head. This was what she wanted. This was what she needed; to forget. To have all her troubles washed away. Oh how did she not think of this before? It was amazing!

'Yes! Ana... yes.'

'Yes...'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: It has been brought to my mortified attention by a lovely reviewer of mine (thanks eva) that Ana is also the name of Fareeha's mom. I was aware of the fact, but it did not cross my mind as i spewed out this chapter on a single bus ride. I know how 'disturbing' (?) it makes things but IT WAS NOT INTENTIONAL, ANA IS JUST AN EASTER EGG CHARACTER SPREAD THROUGHOUT ALL OF MY FICS- it's also my nickname irl, too, so... hope it wasn't too weird for you folks. Yeah...


	8. Start Again

**8\. Start Again**

'Get up.'

'I can't.'

'...'

'Yes you can.'

Fareeha shot her a pained look.

'It's easy for you to say, sitting there. Put yourself in my shoes, Doctor, and you will find it so much harder to accomplish what you say.'

Angela shrugged her shoulders wearily and returned the Captain a pointed glance.

'Just try.'

'Fine', she breathed out heavily, frustrated, 'it's not getting any easier, mind you.'

And so Fareeha grabbed the barbells again as she attempted to hoist herself up into a dip position with the bionic attachments that had been surgically integrated into her body.

To little success; the artificial limbs would simply give under her weight- whether it was because she was too heavy or because they were just sub-par, she did not know. Honestly, it didn't really matter at this point.

'I can't', she let out a groan as her back fell to the padded floor again with a dull _thud_. It didn't hurt was much as it was annoying, by this point, she reflected as she blinked a few times before letting out a pained breath.

Angela just stared at her while taking another drag, left arm folded under her cigarette-gripping right.

'God help you, Amari.'

'Grrr', she grumbled, 'remind me why you had to be in charge of me again?'

Sigh.

'Well... I am, besides being a surgeon and nano-tech researcher, also qualified as a general practitioner and', here she paused for emphasis, ' I'm the most senior medical staff they have on base so, like it or not, you're stuck with me...'

'I can't do this', Fareeha said again as she stared up at the too-bright over head bulb and let out an exasperated breath.

Angela was tempted to chide her again, but held back. After all, it was not the first time they had done this; or tried to. Neither was it the second time, or the third or, in fact, even the fourth. Should she use her digits to keep count of the number of times they had been through this tedium, Angela would be pressed to find that she would run out of fingers.

She had, in fact, been in the gym-turned-rehab center for over a week with the Captain, and they had gotten no further than Fareeha properly grasping the bars and attempting to hoist herself up before the pain- or whatever it was- would cause her to let her grip fail and flop back to the padded floor.

'You have to try.'

'I tried! Dammit', there was a sharp edge to Fareeha's voice that had not been there before.

Hmm.

'Are you raising your voice with me now, Captain?', Angela prodded gently, eyes sharp; searching.

'Stop', she drawled and held the prosthetic arms to cover her eyes. 'Maybe... m-maybe tomorrow.'

'...'

'You are giving up.'

'I'm not.'

'And now you are hesitating', Angela pressed, 'the Fareeha Amari I know does not hesitate.'

Silence greeted her observation.

'The Fareeha Amari I know would not stop one moment before setting herself loose upon those bars and trying again, and again and ag-'

'-stop it, Ziegler', Fareeha cut her off, glaring harshly. And yet, there was pain and frustration behind the anger in her stare,' you've told me all of this before already.'

Angela shrugged.

'Not much has changed regarding your progress though, has it?'

That question, Fareeha could not answer.

'Hey', Angela spoke up after a while as she gave Fareeha a concerned look, ' it's... hard, I know.'

Fareeha mumbled unhappily, gritting her teeth.

'But you will have to get back onto your feet, sooner of later and', she paused momentarily, a look of worry fleeting across her features, 'and the way Helix has expressed it, they would rather you get better sooner.'

A dark look crossed Fareeha's features as her mind flicked back to the day when Lieutenant Naveen came into her ward bearing Helix's letter expressing their condolences and a clear wish to sponsor all of her prosthetics so that she would be ready for combat operations again as soon as possible.

'Why?', she had asked. For it made no sense; she had been mortally wounded- if not for Angela's Resurrection her body would still be in seven different pieces before the Omnic Immortal's Plasma canons. That she was still alive at all was a lot to ask of the Captain, but requisitioning her to go back and _fight_?

'Why?', the question had hung in the still air of the room for so long it was becoming a stifling weight that could almost be physically felt.

Naveen had been unable to provide her with a satisfactory reply, or any at all, for that matter.

They sat in silence for a little while, both lost in their own worlds, as Angela's smoke dissipated, allowing the Captain to breathe more freely at last.

'F-fareeha...', Angela called tentatively.

She looked up, for it was rare for the Doctor to call her by her name.

'... look I-i know it's hard for you to do this', she began haltingly, eliciting a raised eyebrow from Fareeha who wondered what brought this sudden change in attitude on. 'But if it helps, maybe I can tell you about how I had to deal with something as traumatic as this once and... a-and how I overcame it...?'

'Um...'

'You lost both arms and legs?', Fareeha asked as she sat up, trying and failing to keep the slightest tone of ridicule from creeping into her voice.

'Hah', Angela smiled, hands over her lips to stop a full blown chuckle. And yet, the smile didn't really reach her eyes, 'no.'

'Then?'

(break)

_They had just had dinner at Leo's Stadtbeck, now strolling leisurely down Genfergasse as the bespectacled Doktor pointed at the distant flag atop the domed top of the University of Bern's main building and squeezed his partner's hand gently._

_The woman smiled as she recalled fond memories of their days back in those hallowed halls. It felt like it had just been yesterday that she and Ernst had been shy, blushing freshmen greeting each other for the first time outside their lab class; she- hands in her lab coat awkwardly twisting themselves, him- clutching onto his clipboard as if hanging on for dear life. Feeling a little tug on her left hand, the blonde lady looked down to see a miniature version of herself- save for the blue eyes- staring right back._

_'Mama...can we see the c-castle?', she spoke haltingly, bright, wide eyes blinking up at the adult as she tried to focus on asking the question and licking her little cherry topped ice cream at the same time. There was but the slightest smudge of white cream above her lips like a moustache; Claudette found the sight so endearing it tugged at her heartstrings just to watch._

_'Of course, mein liebling. We will be getting there soon', she smiled at her daughter as she cast her gaze off to the distant peaks of the turrets and bastions of the Altstadt von Bern; the Bern old city- long since a proud UNESCO World Heritage sight. And, tonight; their destination for sightseeing on this last night of their stay in the Swiss capital._

_Turning to her husband, Doktor Claudette spoke:_

_'Mein schatz, do you re-'_

_She never had the chance to complete her sentence._

(break)

'... I did not understand.'

'...'

'... i-it happened so fast. One second they were there; confused. And th.. t-the next..'

'You don't have to go on', Fareeha muttered, eyes downcast as she unconsciously shuffled closer to the woman besides her. 'I'm sorry, Angela.'

'...don't be...'

'You have my condolences', she placed a ginger hand on the Doktor's shoulders, who'd sat down beside her as she retold her story,' whatever it means to you.'

Angela looked at her then, eyebrow quirked, a sad smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

'It means a lot, Captain.'

'Thank you.'

If the Doktor was beginning to notice that Fareeha's hand had lingered on her shoulders several seconds too long, she did not say it.

A drawn-out, quiet moment seized the mood as they both sat back and just let their minds drift. Angela wondering what to say next, Fareeha wondering what exactly the Doktor was wondering about to have that placid, distant look on her face.

Indeed, sometimes one must pause to wonder at it all. After all, we are so small in this universe. Our sun is bigger than us and then there are other stars that were bigger than that, too. Really, we are so insignificant in every single ways- and yet, there is beauty in our insignificant existence; there is beauty in that which is fleeting. The trivial, the meaningless. For example, Fareeha had once seen this article online as she was browsing History Channel that said supposedly since a piece of toast always lands buttered side down and a cat always lands on its feet, if one was to drop a cat with a piece of buttered toast facing up on its back from a short height of maybe two feet then the contraption would spin on and on forever just a few inches or so off the ground. Indeed, trivial, yet mesmerizing things. Mesmerizing things, like how her hand on the Doktor's shoulder was still allowed to be there, for example.

'Captain', she spoke as she gripped Fareeha's bionic fingers with her own, causing the Egyptian to jerk slightly at the physical contact. 'Ah...'

'W-what?'

'I see your implants are sensitive enough to feel touch...'

'-that's what they are supposed to do', Fareeha pointed out, wondering if she should retract her hand, and if it would be rude to do so. Even through the neural transmitters, she could feel Angela's soft, dainty hand gripping her artificial flesh. And it felt... strange. Good strange.

'...but you don't seem to have full control and a hundred percent functionality yet-', Angela gave her a questioning look, '-right?'

That gave Fareeha pause, as she stopped to consider.

True; she could perform menial tasks that didn't involve heavy lifting, but if she had to do any more physical things like just supporting her own weight, her attachments would give out very easily. It was daunting, upsetting, and just terrible, terrible for the Captain.

'I suppose', she finally said.

'Hmm', Angela hummed as she stared off into the distance and began fiddling with Fareeha's inert fingers. Was it strange? Fareeha supposed it was. Perhaps the fact that her fingers weren't _really_ hers but just artificial add-ons made it less weird and more okay for Angela to touch her like this?

'We can change that.'

'Huh?', she gave the Doktor a confused look, ' whatever do you mean?'

A wicked, devious look found its way onto the Swisswoman's visage as she regarded the Captain. The idea had come to her out of the blue and she had had but seconds to appreciate it, but now the longer she turned it over in her head the more sound it seemed. Yes. It would be fantastic.

Regarding Fareeha and her question, Angela could but answer with a mysterious smile as she stared right into the Egyptian's eyes.

'I'm buying a piano.'

(break)

_Two days later..._

'You are powerful, Doktor', Fareeha shook her head in disbelief as Angela dug out fifteen thousand dollars in hard cash from a briefcase she had conjured out of nowhere.

'Y-your Schimmel's in the back, ma'am', the nervous, overalls-dressed woman stuttered as she stared up at the one and only Doktor Angela Ziegler, more commonly known as Mercy to the adoring masses, 'we will have it brought in as soon as you sign this over here.'

Behind her, three other employees were getting into the back of the delivery truck with gusto while the base guards watched with vague interest from their distant outposts.

The signing was done.

'Where would you want us to put it, ma'am?'

'Oh. In my office', Angela smiled graciously at the woman before turning to Fareeha with a bemused look and a cheekily raised eyebrow, '... of course.'


	9. A-Flat Major

**9\. A-flat Major.**

'…9 foot long instrument with eighty-eight keys that trigger over _seven thousand five hundred_ components to strike hammers at two hundred and thirty strings, weighing over half a ton and exerting total combined force of eighteen _tons_ on the strings…', Fareeha faltered as she glanced up from her tablet, eyes leaving a comment by a certain 'sighsalot' on the Schimmel homepage to look at Angela, 'the piano… does this…?'

'Impressive, is it not?'

'That's… pretty insane', she admitted.

'It is!', the Doctor crooned as she stared off into the distance and breathed in as she held her hands poised over the piano; ready. Fareeha, too, inhaled and waited with bated breath.

Angela was about to play.

(break)

I had expected it to sound pleasing to the ears.

After all, Dr. Ziegler had made it rather clear that she was quite good with the piano, and so I had agreed to come along if only to humor the Doctor and get away from the tedium that had become my rehabilitation- if only for a time, as a bonus.

Like I say, I had expected it to sound pleasing. Make me forget my troubles, at the most.

Not… not like this.

As the notes hit my ears I was transfixed on the beauty of her fingers dancing on the ivory keys. Dulcet tones, the existence of which were so singularly fleeting yet- under her masterful administrations- flowed together into a gentle rhythm the exact opposite of cacophony, swept over me like the mellow, transient warmth of gulping down hot chocolate. If my descriptions of the beauty I now beheld come off as awkward, it is because I have never experienced joy as such before.

Amazing, to feel so… lifted, so filled with elation; busting at the seams with unbridled joy just to _listen_ to her play. Has it got to do with the fact that all my life, the only joys I had felt were the victories of hard battles well-fought and the grateful smiles of liberated people thanking me profusely as I bring justice to their little shanty towns? Perhaps. More likely, however, it is for I am but a lay-woman in the appreciation of the arts; never before having witnessed much, now for the first time experiencing one of the finer things in life.

And it was _fine_.

I was not yet- and might not ever be- at the level where I could bring justice to her playing with flowery words; to say she brought to Debussy's _Pour le Piano: Prelude_ a floating, ethereal, muted, hushed- yet gentle, singing, rich, delicate and ever graceful comfort would be beyond me. Alas, a pity, for I am no scholar. I am but a soldier! But it was good.

Aye. Indeed, it was fucking good, is all I shall say.

The crescendo spoke- it said; fly. Fly with me. Soar, through the skies. The whole room went away and it became only her. Was I staring too hard? It must be, because she was the only person in the room and I was obliged to give her my rapt attention. Was my mouth hanging open, then…? I suppose.

Everything around was a blur, a transcending experience. Finally, as the last beautiful note hit and the resonance filled the air, she and I both let out a breath we did not know we were even holding; together. Together, we looked about and our eyes met. There was a twinkle in the good Doktor's eyes.

And that was when I knew; subconsciously, perhaps, but I still knew; that I would not have to walk to long road to recovery alone.

I had Angela with me.

And we would do it.

Together.

(break)

But it is very hard, is the thing.

'Limber up! Limber up, come on! You can!', she cheered me on as I attempted my piece for the eleventh time in nearly as many minutes.

'Twin-kle, twin-kle, lit-tle s-AYY!', Angela frowned at me as I accidentally hit the black key and the tune went completely to shits; even to my untrained ears. She gave me a gentle slap on the wrist and guided my hands right back to where they should be: ten bionic fingers awkwardly splayed over the keys, dreading having to go again.

'Repeat.'

'Twin-kle', she intoned while she raised an eyebrow at me and I jerked as I tore myself from watching her to play the first note. '…twin-kle lit-tle s-AUGHH!'

I winced.

I was supposed to hit the…uh… D key, I believe it is called. I had gone and hit the F one instead. I could tell because there was a single note separating the two and the keys went by alphabetical order to help aid understanding which was really nice of whoever thought up the piano in the first place since that was about the only thing I understood at the moment.

'A-a I…I', I stammered, lost for words, as she stared me down with just the most terrifying, soul-petrifying, _cute_ glare I had ever seen I all of my thirty years.

'Repeat', she sighed as she locked eyes with me. I could literally _see_ the frustration flee from those cerulean orbs as she stared. I bit my lips; for I did not fluster so, and looked down at the piano again. Why was it that I now found great comfort losing myself in the order of the keys and how to play 'Twinkle Twinkle Little Star' than chance losing myself looking at her again? I had nary an idea, bless me. Hold me at gunpoint and I shall belatedly blame my rapid, beating, erratical heart.

Had I the presence of mind to question why she makes my heart races so? I doubt. Rational thought bid me goodbye the second her gentle, dainty hands ghosted over mine as she leaned against me, whispering, my heated ears but an inch from her pretty pink lips.

'That's not how you do it.' She paused to perhaps regard me; frozen in place me; wide eyes ahead me; breathless me- maybe. '…let me show you.'

Oh. I must have died and gone to heaven. I must have. For my heart; my heart! My heart pounds so hard I must have a cardiac arrest by now! And my lungs- oh… my poor, poor lungs; I've held a single breath for so long surely they must have gone to bust already.

No?

My bionics are dancing gracefully across the keys under her guidance. I say gracefully keeping in mind that grace is a Vietnamese farmer bashing gongs on aluminum bongos selling Pho to seven eight year old younglings formed up in a perfect Congo line before said man while Hueys are dropping napalm on guerilla coconut trees as a lone flamingo occupies the sole landing strip in a fifty mile radius.

In short:

I was playing horrendously.

As we hit the final note, thus endeth my masterpiece, she still has not let go of me.

'D-doktor..?', I hear a grown woman speak meekly. It was me. 'Why are you-'

She sprung apart from me so fast it would have been comical had it not been so awkward.

She is blushing hard and her breaths are barely- but still noticeably- heavier than usual.

'T-that was better', she makes a big show of checking the time, 'I suppose that would be enough for today. After all, it's only your first day on the piano and… uh… it's getting late.'

It was five in the afternoon.

'I suppose I will see you again tomorrow, then?'

I nodded.

'Ah. Um. Alright. I will take my leave then. Goodbye, Captain', she says and exits her own office.

I had no idea what was going on.

Honest.

(break)

_About ten days or more later…_

On paper, prosthetics are awesome. They can withstand more stress, give out more power, and most importantly, are also easily replaceable when compared to their fleshy counterparts. And, on a more personal note, prosthetic nails do not grow, earning for themselves a huge plus in my book since I despise having my nails long and getting in the way of me killing people. I jest; they are inconvenient when I cook or go about my daily activities, that is all.

That asides, on paper; prosthetics are grand.

In practice, however, I doubt anyone had stopped to appraise how frustrating it would be for amputee soldiers to get use to handling things again with the constant phantom ache of the ghost of their amputated limbs bothering them practically twenty four seven.

Which, of course, isn't all that important perhaps, for those concerns are hard to appreciate unless one has become a quadriplegic like me. But here I was with my face inches from the Doktor's as she leaned besides me to demonstrate a particular part in my routine. We were playing harder stuff now, or so she said, now that I have been at this piano business for almost two weeks, but my focus wasn't on that. No. Loose strands of hair hung rebelliously from her perfect ponytail and I was seized by the strongest urge to reach up and tuck them behind her ears for her. But why?

I did not know. And so while my bionic hands lay limp, folded across each other in my lap- since when had I turned so prim? Being near her must have changed me- my whole being was itching to reach out and caress her hair.

Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairies reverberated in the little office and my mind drifted with the low notes, bringing my thoughts down, down, down.

U.N Command- those bastards- had deemed it fit to dub my recovery my R&R as well, thus effectively assigning me to this barren, tepid outpost in the middle of a desert for the next month or so. There were but a couple dozen other people around; less than ten guards, a few medical staff; of whom I only knew and Ana, and the majority being mechanics and aeronautical engineers who were responsible for servicing the long range Vikings that frequently landed to refuel on their way towards Afghanistan or back to the Mediterranean, where the cloaked USS Ohio kept vigil twenty thousand feet over Cyprus, completely unseen by conventional radars. Could they not throw me and the good Doktor in the bomb bay and fly us back to civilization? I had asked. They had replied with a copy-pasted letter expressing their sincere regrets because this and that, stuff and yada yada yada. I was furious for a day before I deflated and forgot it all. As I wallow in the paperwork trails leading all the way back to the disaster at Sandcastle and bite my lips not to yell at the degree of bureaucratic clusterfuck that has landed me in this hellhole, I also watch the news daily, happy for the temporary lull in Talon operations worldwide. That was one tiny lining of silver in my Victorious Tower-sized dark cloud.

Yes.

At long last, I had managed to perform dips without flopping on the ground every try, and had taken to getting back into training with vigor, somehow always managing to get exhausted before my bionics are showing the first signs of giving out on me. While it… pains me that I am still so feeble, I occupy myself by shooting barrels in the desert with a very friendly Luffel; the base armory guardian angel, and also by spending the majority of my time with , obviously trying to exercise full control over and to inspire the dexterity back into my bionic digits.

Easier said than done, granted.

Even through our thin sheens of sweat and the obvious perspiration we were both giving off like mad, her scent was still palpable. It drove me crazy, and I did not know what it was: Lilies? Rosemary? Lavender? My nasal ineptitude shines through. Whatever it was, she smelled really good. It struck me as weird, that there she was ghosting her hands over the keys to show me certain jumps for my piece in good faith and I was sort of… taking advantage of her by breathing in and out rapidly to flood my senses with her smell. Ugh… Nevermind. I must be weird. That is the only plausible explanation.

'Captain', she called and I jerked as I turned in place to the sound of her voice. Only to brush lips with her, for her face was literally right besides mine! My instinctive reaction was to backpedal on the seat, and so I did. But then I went into truly full blown panic, for she did not retreat, but instead pressed forward as her lips hunted for mine.

Oh Allah. What is going on?!

Before my butt was fully pushed off the chair under her advances my natural training had kicked in and I found myself staring at thin air as an excruciating crunch filled the room. One second, Angela was there before me. The next, I had my elbow up in a Krav Maga slash and she had been knocked out cold on the floor, totally unconscious.

'Omigod', I whispered in shock as I stared from my prosthetic limb to the prone Doktor, back to my elbow, back to her, ' Omigod omigod omigod…'

An ugly looking black and purple bruise was forming on her bashed up cheek as I stared on in utter horror, momentarily forgetting that she had just tried to jump me seconds earlier.

'What have I done?'

My arm went down and I almost flew to the ceiling as it hit the keys and the piano let out an unnatural sound.

'Omigod…'

She did not stir. Help me. What was I supposed to do? The only people I have had to elbow across the face on were usually the bad people with whom I didn't give too much care lest it weighs down my thoughts. But Angela? What was I supposed to do? Did i… d-did I kill her? Hmm. Probably not; her chest was still rising and falling in a broken rhythm. Wew. Lucky me!

I tried lifting her bodily but found such a task insurmountable for the time being, so I grabbed her by the feet and dragged her to her chair and then propped her up. I see her shirt ride up her belly and stare at every which way but at it. Why did this have to be so awkward. Was she actually trying to kiss me back there? This is so messy!

Her blonde hair is running across the floor but I guess in war there is always 'collateral damage', so bless that. My knees go weak despite servos running fine and I know it has got nothing to do with faulty connections. Second what I say; bless me, too. Go forth my friends and find me the man who set these butterflies loose in my stomach and clap him in the irons, thank you.

Mind you, the army never prepared me for this; I was in uncharted territory here. It was a great struggle, aye.

Ogod.

Ogod.

But after a dozen years, I had her sitted.

There. Better. Now about that bruise covering the left side of her pretty little face.

Ofuck me.

She was beginning to stir. She was beginning to stir!

What was I supposed to do?! I was only here to learn piano, I never asked for this!

Her slit-like eyes are open and she is locked onto me. Lips move.

'Wadafock?'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Perhaps the biggest thing about my writing is that I have no idea what I am doing. And while that means that, you know, if I have no idea what will happen next then neither will you, and it's never predictable; always fresh. It also means that, and here's the Gospel Truth, there is no plot whatsoever. Indeed, the story builds upon itself and was I to set a limit for Warm, it would surpass a hundred thousand words before I let it rest. A recurring tactic I have in all my works is entering chat rooms, social groups ( talking to Six, Radio, Lovely and Tod for O.T.W, Six alone for cookies, the Pharmercy Reddit/Discord for Warm), quietly soak up the interactions and let that fuel my emotions to write. I can only write when I feel; negative or positive vibes depending, but what that means is that the writing can and will be very erratic! In short, get ready for the surprises people! Updates are weekly until further notice. Maybe even sooner; but I work a 3-11 job six days a week on top of powerlifting, Starcraft 2, league and dance so it might not be so fast. Anyways, I fucking love you guys/gals/attack helis.


	10. Of Two Minds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Kaira, and Eva. I owe you... so much.

10\. Of Two Minds

_Before…_

The days of our piano lessons together fly past oh so very quickly before my very eyes, and before I had the chance to utter what I should have long, long ago, our time is up and Helix has taken you back from their loan to the U.N. The day I watched you leave with that sorry look in your eyes as you no doubt trailed my healing cheek made me want to run to you and say that it's alright. That I am the one to blame; I was too rushed, too emotional- I had been hollow for so long that I had become reckless and I could not stop myself. I made you distance yourself even as you continued to care for me from afar. I…I drove the wedge between us.

And for that, mein liebling, I am truly sorry.

I am sorry to watch you go. I am sorry for taking advantage of your blind, soldierly trust. At least, I would like to say that I am but… I am not, not really. I would like to say that I stood at the hangar door long after the Banshee had disappeared and longed for you. But no; I was ravaging Ana in my bed to try to forget that I had cared for you so much I might have fallen for you, dear Captain. I feasted on her body and made her make me feel good but all I could think of was you. I am… sorry for that.

For I, too, am fallible, despite what others might have heard about me. I am incorrigible. I am fickle, selfish, demanding. And I never taught your Debussy's Pour Le Piano. I am sorry, for that, at least.

As a massive regional upheave in Cologne, Germany has me deployed with the twenty-first Airborne to quell the Talon-stoked Ominian crisis, I have eyes and ears to keep me informed of where you go. I hear you squashed a cell in Katowice. I heard you vanquished havoc-class units in Jalan Baru. I am slightly worried that Talon is everywhere, but I worry more for you.

I see newspaper clippings of you-helmeted- mouth frozen open in the photograph as rockets arc forth from you; my angel. The war photographer's hand had shaken as he snapped the shot, but technology has sharpened into eternity the image of the Omnics as lasers were trained on you- to kill. I purse my lips. Then I flip the page and see more. Your visor is down and you grimace as you photographed tearing tags from the fallen amidst the wrecks of Immortals your rocket barrage had destroyed.

I can see the strain. I can…see that it hurts you.

Justice rains from above. The headline screams in bold print. Helden!, my local German newspapers read. Hero. Indeed, you are. Young girls are happy and their moms are happy too that you bring into this world such a shining example of female empowerment and… I suppose that's nice. The media takes you and turns you into a global icon for peace and security. Chinese toy makers are falling over themselves making action figure for you. But what does the press know about what you are really feeling? Do they know like I do how you sit staring at bulkheads for hours after killing young children in far-distant Vietnamese villages? Do they know like I do how you hyperventilate softly as you clean your armor again, and again, and again as your eyes unfocused while your mind take you back to the massacres of Sydney? Your armor is spotless. I see my dark eyes in them. But you still clean. Why do you clean so much, Fareeha? You cannot rub off blood stains! But hey… I suppose you could try. A drive deep in me we might call compassion compels me to look out for you. Not because I am absolutely selfless, no. More like because I am selfish; seeing so much of my own emotional suffering in others make me want to reach out and comfort them with the selfish desire for them to reciprocate my actions and ease my pain, too, however that works.

But still; the press, do they know anything about you? I torture myself with the question.

No. One syllable answer, because that is the truth.

At ungodly hours I lock myself in my office in the world-class hospital and dim the lights while I sip my hot tea and let my eyes glaze over at the press conference of you I am watching.

'Miss Amari!', they clamor for your attention', what are your opinions on what people are saying about the devastation at Reykjavik harbor?'

'Can you tell us your thoughts on the situation in Germany?'

'Are you going to deploy to Syria? There are news that the American Liberator-class siegecrafts have gone rou-'

'I-I…', you stutter as your squinted eyes flit between the dozens of flashing lights. You are disoriented; out of your elements, and everyone with half the brain can tell. But the reporters are hounds and they want to seize the first word that falls from your lips and blow it up into front page material. I grit my teeth as I take in the gaily-dressed men and women. The make-up. The décor. The microphones. The suit they put you in!

You hate it. You do not speak much, if at all. You hate this environment. You think a lot in your head- your lively eyes give it away and I watch you carefully like you are the only specimen of a precious species of flower and I might lose you to the first draft of wind. I know your eyes. Now, your eyes want you to run away. Mein liebling! If only you knew how much I wanted to be there for you…

It pained me that I could not. But… someone was. Was that… me? No. She looked like me, yes. She was a little taller. A little thinner. Like me, she was a blond. Like me, she spoke with authority and conviction, commanding all the attention with mere words. But her green eyes were cold and calculating as she stared directly into the camera and spoke up on your behalf, saying that questions end here. You are escorted out of the conference room, screaming reporters clawing their futile way at security to get to you. She has a hand on you, gripping your shoulders as she pushes you forth. You must be distracted, for you did not shake her off. What was that blonde to you? Helix Public Relations? U.N foreign correspondent? A mere attaché? Or another doctor, fortunate enough to have your ear as you stare at the ground and try to escape the stifling room while a thousand flashes and more blind you from every side?

Jealousy, black and deadly, consumes me.

(break)

_One day…a long, long time later._

We both get rather tipsy on the French wine. I giggle as I lean against you and your strong, muscular arm squeeze my waist reassuringly, and my giggle turns into a quiet smile.

Even barely sober, you-my soldier- you are here for me. I sigh so happily the Cherubs from the High Heavens would have swooned at the sight. Our evening flashes before my befuddled brain and I start chuckling again as I remember you at our dinner earlier. The waitress comes and she is checking you out demurely from under her lashes. She asks for our orders. I say just wine, for the moment. She can't take her eyes off you so I lean over and kiss you on the lips. The French girl gasps.

I am the only non-flustered woman at the table after that. But… that's okay.

'What wine?', she forgets her manners.

You stare at me.

You stare at her.

I wiggle my eyebrows seductively.

'The best', you croak.

We are breathless as we fumble with the lock to the rented apartment. Soft, classical music plays from the opposite; so our landlady Eva is home. That's nice. I think she is rather lovely, and her voice is music to my ears- like yours is. Well… maybe a bit less. But we are breathless. It is very hot. France is so hot in the summer and I miss the chill of Switzerland, but then the door is unlocked, and I push you in, and you would have gone 'augh!' but I seized your lips and… mhmm, this is nice…

I rather like the way you tense under me as my fingers begin tracing meaningless patterns all over you. But I am soft. And you are…well…hard. Fit. Toned. So my weight doesn't bother you at all! I would have exclaimed happily. But not now. I am draped over you like a fine Persian blanket and I keep things mellow as I tease you- but not too much, na ah! No. I tease you to a point, then I kiss my way down, down, down…

We would have showered together but I am fat and lazy as hell and I fell asleep after pleasuring you. I know. Facepalms were had. I roll around on the bed slowly as I listen to the water run. I turn away from the light through the opaque bathroom door; I dislike light. Soon, you are out, and I stagger to do my own cleaning.

Mhm.

You say that I am not fat? Well, mein liebling, that's really nice of you! Well then, I suppose not. But I feel fat. Perhaps I shall go to the gym with you, love? Perhaps… but my thoughts get ahead of me. Let's get back to that blissful moment. That night on the sofa in Chilly Mazarin in the southern suburbs of Paris, ja?

We cuddle on the comfortable sofa and bask in the melty post-coital glow for long after you had reached your peak. You are so shy in these intimate moments and I get these…ugh… Fareeha, it might sound a little strange but I get these motherly vibes whenever you curl up next to me. Yes. How do you do it? How do you make me feel this way? How do you both make yourself smaller and yet big enough to cradle me in your protective arms at the same time? How do you make me want to spread myself to cover all of you and hide you away from the world for me alone even as you are doing that very thing for me?

It will forever be a mystery.

Rain comes belatedly and we are fourteen and nineteen again. Two teenagers secretly holding hands in the dimness of the darkened room as the movie plays, the flickers of the screen like probing eyes of strangers somehow so we time our hand-holding for when the screen is darker and we are veiled in darkness. Did I… make you confused? Ah. Please indulge me; indulge this old woman and allow her her reminiscence. For we both indulge each other. I; you, as I leaned up and kissed your forehead. You; me, as you made a bold move and seized my lips on the way down, kissing with your typical hopeless aggression. Ah…hmm. Yeah. See, I stopped to reconsider my words, after all- a kiss; aggression? That… might not have been the best descriptor? But it's true…

You kiss me like every kiss would be the last. You kiss me like I am the only woman in the wor- wait. No. Scrap that. Like I am the only _human_ in the world. Like you would lose me if you dare let me go. I… I have never felt so secure as I was in your arms. Never, Fareeha.

When you hold me, I feel safe. From what… Talon? Danger? Some random fanatic charging me with a six-inch serrated knife? It has happened before, you know that. The short answer is everything. The long answer is you protect me from my own nightmares, my twisted dreams. My evil other half, Lily, who as you tell me you love me whispers in my other ear for me to end you in your sleep so she can take your place by my side and dance with me forward unto oblivion. Take a long walk off a short cliff. Paint a line down my wrist. Swing from a tall, tall tree.

I…am burdened, by the lives I have taken. Infinitely more so by the lives I could not save. To think I almost lost you forever, mein liebling…

But let's keep it mellow.

I smile at you radiantly; I am terrible at acting and you see through my forced positivity like it was not there at all. But you smile back- haltingly at first but you do- because you know how I feel and feel like I do.

And now, like then in Chilly Mazarin as it rained and I woke up screaming at 4 a.m in our warm cottage on the side of the Swiss mountains you hold me close to you and whisper that you love me. That you are here for me. That no one, nothing, will ever hurt me.

And I think back to a time when I questioned if I would love you forever. And I realize I had it a little wrong the whole time. That I was a little too busy envying others who had your favor. Too busy doubting everyone that dared come near you; too busy being selfish thinking only in terms of absolutes and…and. Well. I… don't know if I still make sense anymore. I tend to go off sometimes. But it doesn't matter. I don't need to stick around until past a hundred years old. I don't need to live forever. And that is because I have you.

For you; my love, my angel, my life- you, are my forever. You taught me to appreciate the sting of the cold, the warmth of linens. You taught me to be kind to others when I can, to be patient with others, and especially with myself. You, who showed me that I… me, wretched, accursed, despicable me, can still be loved. You, oh stupid, lovely, goofy you. You who woke up and stared at me for almost half an hour only to ask for my hand as I awoke.

'In marriage?', I yawned sleepily, not quite sure I was not dreaming; the nightmares of last night had drained me and I was very, very tired.

'Yes.'

You summon a gorgeous diamond-studded ring from the air and find my hand. You prepare to put it on. I wait for you to. But you stop. I was like…what?

'So…yes?', you ask. No tact! No subtlety! No candle-lit dinner in the finest restaurant, no Jazz in the background. But here, us tousled, messy hair; bleary, half asleep.

Of course I said yes.

…

It was a sunny, sunny day in Chilly Mazarin.


	11. Ohana

**11.** **Ohana.**

I am speechless.

'Ang? Welcome home!', my wife exclaims happily, her brutish forcing together of the brightly colored Lego pieces momentarily forgotten. ' Cecilia, go say hi!'

The little girl turns and face me, impossibly wide eyes turning even more saucer-like by the second as she took in my sight from her position on the floor.

'Mommy?'

I am frozen, handbag in hand, stock still in the doorway, mouth probably hanging wide open.

'Mommy!', little Cecilia clambers to her feet and drop her half-assembled police car, the Lego falling softly to the carpeted floor as she awkwardly waddles towards me, little fingers outstretched.

'Mom!'

Fareeha has her hand on the girl's back to support her and push her along gently, and out of instinct I drop my bag and dash forward as little Cecilia stumbles into my embrace, soft little arms automatically going round my neck. I automatically breathe in the smell of her and it reminds me of freshly toasted bread. Strange, isn't it? I stopped to ponder as she crashed against me.

Sunbeams at my back light up the little cherub's face.

And now suddenly, there is a bundle of warm child in my hold.

'Mommy! Mommy! Are you my Mommy?', she exclaims happily, wiggling into my overcoat, 'are you? Are you?'

'I-', I bit down on my lip. I hesitate.

What do I say? Yes? What's going on!? Why is there this... little, angelic, lovely girl clinging onto me and calling me Mom? Terribly confused, I turn a beseeching gaze to my wife for help.

'Yes', she mouths, deep brown eyes twinkling with warmth, and a certain... something else. Something I would describe as maternal love, but only much, much later. For now, though, the bundle of joy in my embrace was flipping every which way in that fashion all your children do when they are either very excited or had had too much sugar in their pancakes.

'Are you my Mommy?', little Cecilia is very persistent, 'are you?'

She has her little arms around my trunk now, burrowing tighter against my breasts. I- out of instinct- lace my arms around her small frame and pull her closer. My wife joins me and I am suddenly smothered by two happily-vibrating girls.

The rational part of me that realises that I had just come home after a twelve hour shift at work and that I was very tired and probably needed a shower yesterday already was drowned out by this warm, tingly sensation that had come to settle in my chest.

Fareeha kisses my forehead and little Cecilia attempts to reach all the way up and follow suit because, you know, kids will be kids, and I found my pulse rising as she tried. But she was tiny, however, and small, and she missed her mark. Cecilia kissed me on the nose instead.

My poor heart melts.

We stay like that in our awkward group hug for a few moments longer, before little Cecilia, who found it getting rather warm in here with these two big humans, pushed herself away from us.

'Hot', she muttered as she fell back into the cradle that mine and Fareeha's laps had created underneath her. Thereafter she begins to womble. Like a caterpillar. I... I found it beyond cute.

Fareeha kisses me on the forehead again, this time not drawing back after the act as she leaned to besides my ear and whispered something that made my eyes go full circles.

'Say hi to our daughter, Ang...'

'O-o... our d-daughter?', I stutter.

Cecilia, apparently having heard the trigger word 'daughter', launched all twenty pounds of her little self at my belly, almost knocking me over was it not for Fareeha's strong, muscular arms holding together our little nest of girly limbs.

'Mom! Mommy! You are my mommy, ja?'

'Say yes', Fareeha nudges me.

'...y-yes', I say to little Cecilia.

'Wooo!', she flips, I almost got hit by her head as she bounced from her stationary position. ' I have two moms! Yay!'

My lips cracked a big, stupid smile as I watched the little angel in our laps. Fareeha hugs me again, and I'm still smiling myself silly as Cecilia hug my belly like it's a tree trunk, she's a koala, and I'm an oak.

'Our daughter?', I whisper to my wife, still a little shaken, still a little not too sure what exactly was going on.

I get another kiss on the forehead for that, and a belly tickle from little Cecilia as Fareeha whispers back, the joy apparent in her words.

'Our family.'

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Ohana means family. And family means that no one gets left behind, or forgotten.
> 
> This is a... very, very short chapter, more like an epilogue for the first arc of Warm in the Cold. Now that we are at the end of the first part of this story, I might take a little break before I start up again, thus entering the second arc. But it will come! And soon, too! So there's that to look forward to. As always, I hope you enjoy, and have a good day folks.
> 
> (rant)
> 
> Also, my lovely beta reader Joy pointed out that she has no idea where Cecilia came from, and to be honest with you, neither do I. Like. I just... wrote... and it just came out. Kudos to Joy for bearing with my lmao-ness. But you know my style; I jump in time all the time. How did little Cecilia walk into their lives?? WHAT EXACTLY HAPPENED? Perhaps time will tell. THAT MEANS READ THE NEXT CHAPTER FOLKS!


	12. Every Shadow

**12\. Every Shadow.**

He walks among the mortals and they cower from him. The scientists would walk the long way round the base to avoid him. Engineers fumble with tools, orderlies tremble and drop their things, nurses back away in fright. Even the soldiers turn away a little when he is near. He walks among the mortals everyday, and yet he is the furthest thing from a mortal that there could ever be.

It's not so much annoying as it is amusing for the man, as he dissipated into a menacing mist of black and drifted rather aimlessly through the ventilation grates, thus emerging directly into the cool air of the night above without having to navigate the labyrinth of exit tunnels leading out of Talon's Alaskan compound.

The mortals cower from him. Well... most of them, at least.

Not the spider.

It sits atop the roof of a watch tower, inside of which two operatives fidgeted nervously as they saw him billow his way up on top to join the female sniper.

'Widowmaker', he rasps, taloned fingers curling as it flicked him a single blithe look and returned to perusing the endless expanses of frozen tundra with what could only be described as a colossal amount of interest. Reaper squinted. He saw nothing. It was all white; white sky, white ground, white men in camouflaged uniforms hiding in their white dug-outs. Even the floodlights were white, but at least that one part was to be expected.

'You are due for your re-calibration', he wheezes with some effort, his throat burning up, and healing just as quickly.

The spider is silent. Snow falls softly all over the compound.

'Widowm-', he growls, claws reaching for the woman's shoulder. Before he was even half way there she had spun and grabbed his arm at the elbow, ready to break it free of its socket.

Reaper cackled.

He dissolves into a black mist in her vice-like grip and melts into a puddle on the floor, spilling through her fingers, then rising into form once again behind the spider as it turned and glared at him in that way it always did whenever it would fail to hurt him.

'Recalibration', he insists, his own talons now gripping the spider's wrist, squeezing, hard. The thin armguard cracks almost immediately, and he finds cold flesh against his touch as he continued applying pressure. The spider continued glaring at him defiantly even as its bones began to snap in his crushing grip. 'Now.'

The experiments- High Command called them 'upgrades'- had dulled the spider's senses to the point that it could no longer feel pain. That was good, in that he could break it, and it wouldn't complain. But the downside was that it also didn't register itself as being broken, and continued giving him dirty looks as his claws closed fully. Coagulated blood dripped down in thick globs onto the roof. The _plop!plop!_ was probably freaking out the two guards inside, who had no way of knowing what was going on atop their watchtower.

'Go get fixed', he mumbles as he dissolves once again and float away from the vantage point. The scenery was beginning to bore him, and his message had been delivered. There was nothing left for him to do here with the spider. Furthermore, he had to get retrofitted with those new Chaos-X grenades Engineering had promised.

As they saw him float away the two Talon watchmen gave out an audible sigh of relief.

Snow continued falling softly across the compound.

Widowmaker cradled her broken wrist and gracefully grapple-hooked her way down to the solid ground, the dull ache in her arm probing at the back of her mind dully, like as if she was under water. She headed for Medical.

The fleet leaves for Volskaya at four in the morning; till then, she had but a few hours to get herself patched up, re-calibrated and maybe get some rest.

Not that it actually really mattered; she never really needed rest anyways.

(break)

'Volskaya Industries' been hit', the A.I spoke calmly, and Naveen was frozen for a second as he took in the news.

'Been hit!?', he exclaimed as the rest of of the staff turned towards the huge holo projector now showing a panning shot of the Russian complex, 'by who?'

Live surveillance footage of panicking Russian guards running around like headless chickens was brought up. The moment Naveen regained his senses, he ran over to the masterboard and punched the big red button jutting out of the central console as the camera zoomed in on a shadowy wraith unloading twin midnight-black shotguns into the arm of a Volskaya Mech unit.

 _Talon_. A cold shiver claimed every single souls in the room as the wraith was knocked against a bulkhead by the Mech and cast the surveillance camera a final hateful glare before literally dissolving into a black wisp and slipping away. The view switched to a city view, and Naveen almost flipped where he stood as a massive explosion blasted buildings right out of their foundations. The staff around him too took multiple steps back, the surreal sight almost too visceral for them; it was as if the huge jetting fires were themselves bursting into Helix's Europe Headquarters. The feed jumped again. And again. And again. As each new feed came into place it was suddenly shot out; leaving a broken, cracked mess through which only vague shapes could be seen.

But the audio worked just fine. And there were screams. Screams everywhere. That, and gunfire. The steady, undulating 900 rounds per minute staccato of unmistakable Bastion units firing their bolts off filled the room. At last, as they managed to hijack the feed from a convenience store shop at the edge of Victory Square, the scenes of destruction were laid before the horrified members of Helix International.

Black pods were descending from a Leviathan drop-ship as Specters circled the massive carrier raining rockets down onto Petrograd. Immortals waddled into the square, trunk sized plasma canons blasting truck sized holes out of the scenery while Sentries streamed out of Gateways hovering mere feet above the ground, powered by massive tele-portal units.

'What the fuck is going on!?', a radio technician could not contain his shock and blurted out. A single gun began firing. Just by the sound of the bolt clacking, everyone could tell that it was old. Very old. Probably even an AK-47, the classic gun that had been around for more than a hundred years. _Ping!Ping_ _!Ping_ went the shells against the lead Omnic Immortal's Barrier shields, bouncing off more harmlessly than rubber pellets. It stopped out of curiosity and scanned the area as the sustained rifle fire continued.

But it ended quickly, though. A massive rocket from an interested Spectre took care of whatever building the resistance was hiding at.

'W-what..?', Naveen was speechless. A laser flicked over the camera, followed a split second later by a plasma bolt that toasted the contraption.

The display went black.

Seconds passed before another shot took the screen, this time of the outside of a petrol kiosk, far from the city centres. The thick forest of trees blocked everything on the ground, but the view in the sky showed three more Leviathans descending from the murky stratosphere in the distance with hundreds of menancing black pods dropping from their sides.

'Volskaya was just a feint blow...'

The face of Russian Defence Minister Ivan Ivanov Ivanovsky took up the entirety of the screen as klaxons began blaring in the distance, signalling an urgent call for all Viking pilots to abandon their chores and get back to their crafts.

He was screaming his head off.

'Send in the troops', Naveen muttered to the nearest person who would listen, his eyes too absorbed on the man on the screen who was being surrounded by a phalanx of security guards and soldiers as they escorted him through a tunnel. The overhead lamps shook with concussive blasts from what were probably Immortals above.

'Send in what troops sir?', Michael asked haltingly, hand hovering over the holo console as he waited for his order.

'Send in _the_ troops!', Naveen turned to him; visceral, yelling, as another massive explosion rocked the holo feed, 'send in _everything!_ '

(break)

'This is not a battle! This is _war_!'

Angela could only agree.

'I hate urban warfare', the Captain mumbled as she ducked back behind cover and reloaded her rocket launcher.

Angela also agreed with this.

From her position, she could see hundreds of Federation troops and Helix 'advisors' engaging the Omnics in the blasted Victory Square. The fight night not have been anything one-sided, but there were no indications that either sides were even making the least bit of advance either. Russian siegetanks prevented the Immortals from advancing on the so-called 'soft' human troops, while Sentry forcefields discouraged the humans from making any push of their own. It was a literal tug of war paid for with human lives and Omnic metal scraps. _How sad..._

For all the advances in ways to kill things in the last a hundred and fifty years, warfare that day might as well have returned to the muds of Flanders.

'Bravo Company, forward!', Pharah screamed into her comms as a massive pod crashed into _behind_ the Omnic lines and she struggled to make herself be heard. Bravo company's men burst out of hiding and dashed forward under massive cover fire from the Siegetanks and the other three companies that had flanked a semi-circle around the south-western side of the square. Spectres zipped across in the sky overhead, attempting to disrupt the Federation leap-frog with their Brutalizer Air-to-Ground missiles even as allied Vikings flew an aerial bubble of protection over the ground based assault, to competent effectiveness so far.

At the blasted pedestals statues of Great War heroes the men of Bravo took cover and tossed flashbangs and smoke haphazardly over their positions to hopefully confuse the defenders. To zero results whatsoever; split-second erections of force fields on the shattered steps leading into the museum had the sloppily-aimed grenades back to the friendly lines. _Oh shit._

'Repulsars!', the panicked cry had Mercy nearly ripping her earpiece off as whoever let out the horrified sound was soon cut off with a _fwoosh!_. She immediately saw why. From the crater behind the Omnic line a towering Colossi clambered onto its tripedal legs and began shooting thousand degrees plasma from its twin thermal lances, literally pulverizing the front of Bravo company as they scampered back in hasty, disorganized retreat. Rising above the smoke of smoke frags, it was an otherworldly horror; an invader from stars beyond our system, and now- living, walking death. A massive explosion knocked her onto her back and Angela stared on in horror as the crumbling to her left totally gave way and the deadly column of rubble began falling towards her. Bracing for death; Angela was surprised to find strong arms around her, dragging her away at literally the proverbial last second.

'Get it together!', her Captain yelled at her, wrist mounted concussive blaster firing wildly away. The enemy must have been much closer than she realized ,'we need you!'

'Vikings, now!', the coms channel became flooded with unintelligible sounds as the Omnic surge had the Federation troops panicking and totally forgetting radio etiquette. Mercy gave her Captain a worried glance as the latter watched the Omnic advance grimly, single armored hand absentmindedly trying to tear away her earpiece; to no effect- it was intergrated into her Raptora armor.

It seemed like all was lost as the heavy supporting artillery siegetanks went silent, too.

'This is not the end...', but there was desperation in Pharah's voice as she spoke. Activating her guardian angel, Mercy flew to a Federation soldier's side and turned to survey the devastation unfolding at her back. There was little they could do; the whole company was collapsing. Sparse, unaimed fire trickled in from their flanks but it was not enough.

Pharah fired her rocket launcher and the missile arced forth... right into the hardened field barrier of a waddling got its attention, and it paused mid stride to turn and train its plasma cannons on them.

'Down down d-'

The blast left her ears ringing. At this proximity, it felt like a thousand thunderclaps rolled into one single moment and compressed into her ear. Followed immediately by another. _Does this never stop?! But wait!_

The busted shell of an on-fire immortal stared at her, and another rocket came down from the sky like as if Zeus himself had raised his thunderbolt to smite the Omnics down.

'Rocket barrage incoming!', she looked up just in time to see a squadron of vikings unleash their Repulsar rockets at the ground push, even at the cost of their own lives; for turning their weapons on the Omnic units on the ground left them completely exposed to the Spectres that wasted no time in swooping in to strike down the Helix-Federation crafts.

And yet, it _was_ enough. _What?!_

Bravo halted as it suddenly realized that virtually the entire front phalanx of Omnics had been turned to smoke and dust. First one, then two, then two dozen, then almost all of them began unloading clips into what remained of the Omnic advance. As if summoned by an unseen god the Siegetank volleys started up again, pelting the enemy backlines with heavy, delibitating shock waves that slowly but surely confirmed that perhaps, today, mankind would emerge ascendant on the battlefield.

Recognizing the sudden turn in the tide, her Captain fired off her last two rockets in the general direction of the opposition before slapping on a fresh load and glancing behind her quickly to check that her angel had her back. She did.

'Into the fray!', Pharah screamed as she launched herself into the air, and Mercy, after one split second to take it all in, engaged her own wings, and followed suit.

There was still fight left in her,yet.

And this battle, will be won.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Shorter chapter than expected because I'm also working on my pharmercy weekly prompts but... I hope you enjoyed it :D


	13. Relief

**13.** **Relief**

She was striding for the showers before the landing ramp was even fully extended, brushing past harried looking guards, _shoving_ , almost, even, as she stalked off menacingly. The Helix commandoes still unclasping their seatbelts in the Banshee shot her concerned glances as Pharah walked in a straight line right across the landing zones of multiple returning Vikings and Banshees, forcing their pilots to stop sharply and hover over their pads to avoid hitting her. She tried calling out, but over the din of the landing crafts her voice was drowned out. Angela followed her with a worried look on her visage as the Captain first unclasped her armored helmet and quite literally threw it to one side, then began tearing away at the snatches that held her Raptora armor together, all the while huffing and puffing, gaze downcast, refusing to make eye contact with the Swiss doktor.

Angela nervously wiped her hand at the side of her Valkyrie armor and was surprised to see it come away with a shade of brown. It took her a moment to realize that she was rubbing her fingers between blood; the extreme heat of the Colossi had caramelized them into a soft brown paste that stuck to her like a second skin. _Wow... I must be bathed in the stuff..._

It mortified her a little, which was surprising; being in this line of work should have gotten her used to it by now.

Perhaps her time in Russia was another whole level of messed up.

Her feet carried her on of their own accord, and Angela found herself standing dumbly in the deserted changing area of a female toilet while Captain Fareeha Amari showered inside an open stall before she knew what she was doing. Off went the main chest piece _clank!_ to the floor. The sound was awfully loud in the confines of the place.

'Yes?', the Captain was harsh, her voice slightly drowned out by the running water. But given that she practically growled, it wasn't all that hard to catch her, to be honest.

'Are you alright?', Angela asked tentatively, not wishing to further irritate the younger woman.

She failed.

'Am I alright?', the Egyptian was set off. She came stalking out of the shower, naked from the waist up; wet, water dripping everywhere and stood in front of the suddenly flustered Doktor. 'Am I alright?', she repeated more forcefully, now literally almost nose to nose with a very, very uncomfortable Angela.

'Are you forgetting what happened out there?', Fareeha angrily demanded, slender- yet firm- digits gripping Angela's chin to bring the latter's gaze up to meet her. Cerulean orbs met deep brown ones, and Angela found herself tingling all over, from fear or... something else, she could not decide. She would have wiggled her way away from the Captain's hold on her, but as she took a step back, Fareeha took one step forward. Angela knew she was in trouble when her back hit the marble wall of the still deserted toilet. _Where is everyone?_

'What happened out there..?', she echoed instead, blankly staring at the dilating pupils of the younger woman. _Uh oh._

'You almost died', Fareeha suddenly sobbed, palms slamming against the wall on either side. _Wait. What?!_ _Sobbed?_

'I-i... I almost lost you...'

'Captain..?', she did not know how to approach this. _What is going on?_

'...call me by my name. Please.' Fareeha sounded pained. So pained. '... Angela.'

'Fareeha...'

The younger woman collapsed against her, tears freely running down her face, and it was all the Swiss doktor could do to hold the Captain up. Gradually, awkwardly, they slid to the floor, Angela cradling the crying Fareeha as she wondered just what on earth was happening.

'Fareeha, you're making me worried. Please...', it suddenly occurred to her that the she could take advantage of the Captain right now, and make her lewd, twisted dreams become a reality; but a part of her hesitated, 'tell me what's going on.'

'You don't know. You don't see.' Ragged breathing. 'H-how many times th-the Sentries almost tagged you with their lasers... how many times the Immortals nearly blasted you to cooked bits with their plasma cannons. Y-you don't see... you... you _don't_ care!'

'But the only way to save our soldiers' lives is to put my own on the line. Surely, you know that!'

Silence, save for the soft, quick breaths Fareeha took as she gasped- sobbed in the older woman's awkward embrace. Angela was concerned that she might be hyper-ventilating, so she placed a ginger hand on Fareeha's back to check. That opened up the window for the Captain to fall fully into her so that they now held each other in this funny position on the floor. But no one made a move to change it. Maybe neither of them did mind, after all.

'd.. d-do you know how much i-it... it scares me...', she was mewling. _Mewling!_ So pitifully. It broke Angela's heart. But she still had no idea where this was coming from. '...h-how much it scares me when I see you fly forward to t-the fronts, away from me.'

'It's war, Fareeha, and I'm a medi-'

'-no!', she growled even as she trembled in her embrace. 'You. Don't. Understand.'

'Wh-', Angela paused, biting her lip, as her hand experimentally stroked Fareeha's hair, 'what do I not understand Fareeha?'

More miserable mewling.

This was not acceptable, Angela decided. It would do no one any good if someone was to walk in on them like this. Also, she had _so_ many questions, and Fareeha was behaving extremely out of character. She _had_ to know what was going on.

Holding the younger woman up in her arm, Angela tried to find her eyes and spoke to her.

'Why are you crying?'

Eyes so red, puffy. It was nothing like the strong woman she was so used to. And yet... this vulnerable side of Fareeha made her just want to reach out and pull her in and comfort her forever. The feeling was so strong she could not tell if it was instinctive maternal care, her natural inclination to look out for others' well being due to her job as a medical professional, or... something else entirely. Something she didn't dare be honest with herself enough at that moment to call... _love_.

'I almost lost you.'

'Okay...', she patted Fareeha's hair. 'But why are you so scared, Fareeha? What changed?'

'It', Fareeha took a steadying breath before continuing, 'it never really occurred to me how scared I was to have you flying into battle besides me... until today.'

'...hmm?'

Fareeha clutched her arms and leaned in close, almost nose to nose with her. Those brown eyes were tearing up again.

It was a long moment before either of them spoke again.

'You can resurrect us if we fall.' Spoken like a statement, not like a question.

Angela nodded, wondering just where her Captain was going with this.

'B-bu... but w-who will resurrect yo...y-you if you lose your life on the field..?'

Oh. The whole world faded away, so that now the only thing that existed for her was the woman squirming slightly in her hold. Who would resurrect her on the field? But she... wait. Oh. Yeah. No one else would be able to bring her back if she was to fall; that much was true. Resurrection was not an ability just _anyone_ could command by picking up her Caduceus staff.

'I-'

'-hush', Fareeha's forehead brushed hers, and this time it was the Egyptian who initiated their embrace.

They sat like that in almost complete silence for a long while as the water continued running in the open stall and the toilet continued to remain curiously vacant.

'Today was the worst day in a long time and I...', she breathed shakily, 'I-I'm just glad that you're still in one piece at the end of it... Doktor.'

Despite being still full of unanswered questions, Angela decided to set them asides for the moment and just go along; God knows, the Captain really needed it.

She smiled a little and patted the girl, wait, no _woman_ 's head. Maybe Fareeha was just shaken after the hours long battle. Maybe... maybe she just needed someone to lean on. And that... that was fine. While it was not her specialization, she _had_ dealt with PTSD afflicted patients before, and had a clue about how to provide them with a sense of safety and comfort. _That_ , she could provide. So she patted Fareeha's back again and pressed her lips, but softly, against the Captain's forehead, and gently, simply said:

'Okay.'

(break)

'This is ridiculous', Widowmaker muttered as she got shot in the head for the umpteenth time.

'Come on', Sombra playfully punched the blue lady's shoulder, 'you got this!'

Widowmaker grumbled as her character respawned, and she was off the long corridor once again as she went looking for Sombra's soldier. The moment she exited the spawn tunnel, however, she saw her 'health' rapidly drop and turned around just in time to see an armor-clad red soldier emptying his clip at her before her character died once more, and she was stuck waiting for spawn.

'Ughh!', she grumbled as she shook the controller with what one would have called anger, if she could still feel, 'I can't aim with this thing! It's so unnatural.'

'Wot?', Sombra stared at her blankly.

'It has no weight! I see my guy turning and aiming but there's a... a disconnect between hand and eye because it doesn't _feel_ like I'm turning and aiming.'

The purple-haired hacker put down her controller and adopted a thinking pose as her eyes glazed over at the holo-projector.

'Hand-eye disconnect huh?'

'Yeah. Also, they don't die after one shot! I have to unload a whole clip into their back! What is this game; forty eight shots one kill?', the Frenchwoman was disgruntled as she crossed her legs and sat back in her chair. From her position on the floor besides her, Sombra began to grin a little, and gave her one of those classic, devious Sombra smirks.

'Yes?', Widowmaker prodded.

'I have an idea.'

(break)

'I hope you don't mind playing standing up.'

'I do not, why do you ask?'

Sombra finally revealed what she had been sneaking into the room behind her back.

'An energy rifle..?', Widowmaker arched an eyebrow. 'Why?'

'There is an... old gaming technology that uses motion sensors to detect what the player is doing with their body and translate that into signals for the game itself', Sombra muttered as she put the weapon in Widowmaker's hands and began moving her arms into the appropriate positions, 'I reconfigured this gun so that as you can play the game with it instead of the controller...'

'W-why...', Widow was rather lost for words, as she first hefted the re-purposed weapon, noticing how a little control pad had been duct-taped to the side of the stock to allow her to control her character's movements. Then Widowmaker appraised the woman before her again, 'thank you.'

'...don't mention it. I'm sorry I couldn't get you a normal rifle, the energy ones are easier to hack and configure-'

'-no, that's fine.' Widowmaker stopped and smiled at Sombra with as much emotion as she could muster, 'thank you Sombra.'

'Okay', the hacker giggled, 'let's play!'

After that, Widow absolutely slayed at the game. She was beginning to get rather tilted at Widowmaker until she realized that it was just a hologame, and that there was no need to get salty over it. Eventually, Sombra was forced to give it up. The sniper was just too good, now able to consistently land headshots every single times, even without a scope, that it was honestly quite impossible to game against her and _win_.

They were about done with gaming for the night when the door got busted off its hinges, eliciting a frightened yelp from Sombra and causing Widow to immediately turn around, empty-ammo gun levelled at the entrance as she instinctively took aim.

Reaper stood there, one foot in the room, the other in the hallway. He was fully suited up, Chaos-X grenades worn in a bandolier around his torso. Twin Hellfire shotguns dangled from their holsters menacingly. Reaper growled at the two ladies.

'We have a mission. Suit up.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: What is probably the last chapter before my academic year of 2017 starts; I'm going to Film and Media School o/ Updates will likely be slower, but still coming. Eva, I miss you. Take care okay? Until next time, have an amazing day, don't forget to smile, and I'll see you in the next chapter folks!


	14. Faree

**14\. Faree**

It was... a long time ago.

So long now when I was but half my current age, in that glorious summer when I was so carefree and happy. And you; radiant, as always, the bright young Doctor visiting Overwatch again _Why?_ It would be because you were brilliant, and embarked on some sorts of an exchange programme, the specifics of which time has blurred, for me, into obscurity.

But it matters not.

You were just another face to me, then. My Mother was Ana Amari, and as she kept me close in her travels, I got to see a lot of the world! So many faces... so many places...

London, Paris... Cologne, Barcelona.

I met you in Switzerland, where Overwatch's future headquarters would be located, and where; outside of Zurich that summer, I would fall in love for the first time.

(break)

_Over fifteen years ago._

'Hi!', you waved as you smiled at me, your head poking out from behind the door.

'Hello?', I cocked an eyebrow. You moved fully into view.

'Hi!'

I bit my lips and stared at you as I waited for you to continue. You kept waving. _What the fuck is going on?_

I saw your eyes make a trail down my sweat-beaded forehead, to my lean, muscular arms, across the slight rise and fall of my chest with each breath. Those cerulean orbs immediately flicked back and catch mine, acting just like they'd never been straying all along. But. Your skin was pale enough, that the slightest hint of a fluster shows.

I grinned.

'You must be Miss Ziegler.'

'J-just Angela will do', you had your hands behind your back, your feet together. Your slim, willowy frame somehow even smaller in that turtleneck and pencil skirt. The labcoat around your slender shoulders drew my attention to your slim neck.

You caught me looking, and it was by pure luck that I snapped out of my ogling at the right time to meet your gaze. Thank the gods my complexion made my subtle blushing less visible.

'It's nice meeting you Fareeha', you smiled again and suddenly I got a vision of an older you- forty years from now- with gray hair and lines hard etched onto your face by a long, stressful life, and I saw the same radiant, beautiful smile still there; somehow fazed by neither tide nor time.

'See you again!', and you were off, leaving me with a strange sense of curiosity as I picked up a dumbell and stare at my own eyes in the mirror, looking for an answer to a question I had not even formed.

(break)

'-but the temporary effects might not be worth it. We have no idea as of yet what will happen to them when the rush wears off.'

'Alright.'

Silence claims the room, and I pause midstride in the doorway as my eyes go wide at you trying to stare my mother down. Ana Amari is stoic, one hand aggressively placed on top of whatever papers you two were perusing, and she is leaning forward ever so slightly. But you, like I said, were no pushover either. In your heels you leveled the difference such that only the minute height of Ana's beret gave her any types of a difference on your statures. Determination was etched onto your face, that, and a little anger.

'I still do not think we should be testing the stimpack on human test subjects yet.'

'You concerns are appreciated, Miss Ziegler', my mother asserted, 'But invalid. We've already done animal testing for the better part of two years. The stimpack _is_ ready.'

Exasperated, you wring your hands and turn away.

'Yes, perhaps, but the subtle chemical differences in humans and lab rats are there, you can't just ign- Fareeha...?', you stopped mid sentence as you faced me.

'Hello', I nod in your direction cautiously, my eyes flicking between you and my mom. The tension was palpable in the air, and the frown on Ana's forehead made me suddenly question if now might perhaps not be the best time to interrupt.

'Am I... interrupting anything?, I gingerly asked.

'No', Ana shook her head. 'We are done here.'

Packing up quickly, she left the room with her stack of notes and a single, curt nod to you.

'Hello... Fareeha', your voice was light, like as if you were seeing me for the first time. You sound... troubled.

'Hey Angela, ya got a bandaid?'

(break)

The base _is_ big, I gotta give it that, to be fair. But you being you, I should have known you would have found your way to the radio tower before it was too long.

Ah... the radio tower; my favorite spot, not coincidentally also the highest point in the compound. I... have always loved the sky. No matter where I go, I always wished to go to the highest point, to be as close to the clear blue skies as I could be.

Blue was- is- my favorite colour.

Perhaps it was by fate that it, too, was yours.

I sat with my feet dangling off into the air, my chin on my folded arms against the protective railings. The wind ruffled my hair, blowing rebel bangs across my eyes as I watched the sky, the clouds, the city. Nothing, and... everything, at once. Before long, the door at my back was unlatched and out stepped you; lab coat blown back in the wind- one dainty hand over your mouth as you gave a drawn out, weary yawn.

'F-fareeha?'

'Hey', I called out, my eyes not leaving the horizons.

'What are you doing out here?'

I squinted, then chortled.

'What are _you_ doing out here?'

'I was just looking for some fresh air, you know', you walked until you were right next to me, 'and furthermore... the view up here is nice.'

'It is.'

We stayed in silence for a while.

'Is it hard?'

'-to?'

'... be the daughter of Ana Amari, I guess', you gave a non-committal shrug, but there was concern in your eyes. There was always concern in your eyes. 'Maybe there are expectations to live up to...', you made quotation marks in the air- you do this often when you felt the need to express something, and when words would not suffice- ' maybe... pressures to be a good soldier one day...'

'Hah!' I scoffed, making you pause.

'What's so funny?'

'My mom detests me following in her footsteps', I guffawed, turning to face you, 'the last thing she wants is for me to become a soldier.'

'T-that's good...', you muttered.

'I'm sorry?', I didn't catch that.

'I said that's good.'

'Really?', I examined you carefully. 'But what if I _want_ to be a soldier?'

'Why?', there was that look on your face again. That look of silent fury, and determation. I was begining to think you were allergic to any ideas relating to violence or something. 'Why would you choose that kind of life?'

I stared at you, incredulous.

'Why would I _not_ choose that kind of life?', I raised a questioning hand, 'I want to protect those who cannot protect themselves, and punish those who hurt the innocents. What's wrong with that?'

'Those are noble ideas.' I shrugged at that. Sure, they were. 'But you would get hurt in the process...', you halted, biting down on your lips, before speaking again, '... you could die.'

Wind blew a stray bang across my eyes and I put it back in place as I turned my back to you once again and cast my gaze out over the horizons, no longer willing to entertain you and your stubborness.

'We all die in the end, Angela', I sighed, 'what matters is how we lived.'

(break)

It's just not viable.

I scrunched up my eyebrows and cursed myself as I stared daggers at the queen for the umpteenth time.

My struggles must have caught your attention from across the mess hall, because before long a shadow fell over me and my chessboard. I felt your presence behind me even before you had spoken a word.

'You are learning chess huh?'

'I know how to play', I looked on with curiosity as you sat yourself across from me, 'I'm just... learning new strategies.'

'Really?', you smiled, our gazes connected, 'I could show you a few pointers.'

'Er...', I paused. You were offering unsolicited advice, but then again, I had been going at it for almost two hours with the chessbook at my side, and I _was_ getting a bit jaded. Perhaps playing against you would alleviate my tedium.

But what was I thinking.

You destroyed me at chess.

'You need to expand your opening repertoire,' you noted playfully after beating me into the ground for the third time. All along, you'd been giving me advice on the bad moves I had made and offered to let me take them back after I had made them; but being the proud brat that I was, I of course did not. It wasn't long before I would get mercilessly steam-rolled. 'Instead of intensively studying lines and lines of a single attack or defence, which can be played around, try new openings!'

'It will help you.' There. You smiled at me again. You smiled at me alot. _Oh god_. Your eyebrows. Your wild, untucked ponytail. Those blue, _blue_ eyes.

I ogled without even knowing that I was ogling.

'Fareeha?'

Heat flushed my cheeks, and not for the first time was I thankful to my complexion for helping me mask it as I blinked rapidly and looked away for a few moments. If you took note of my embarassment, you made no comment on it.

'King's Pawn game is a solid opening. But if you really wanted to learn all the ins and outs of it', you lifted my pawn, and moved it forward two squares, 'it would take forever. I recommend you expand to the Queen's Pawn Opening.'

'Uhuh.'

'... you can play the black pieces, yes?' I nodded. 'Then I'll take the white and show you how to play this opening then.'

I was tempted to say that I would get beaten into the ground by you regardless of whether I went first or second, but playing chess seemed to make you content and... and I found myself wanting to see more of that from you for some reasons. Whatever reasons those were, I did not know to explore. So I just sat back and observed your slender fingers lightly holding the pawn as you smiled at me, _again_ , and asked me if I was ready. I gave my pieces a glance, the black army standing valiantly against the white, and nodded.

The butterflies in my stomach were unnerving, but I was just a little too confused to stop and try to quell them.

And so we started to play.

(break)

'Woah...', I was rather speechless.

'Do I look pretty?', you grinned and chided me gently.

'You're beautif- I mean. Yeah! T-that's pretty good!', oh my god was I a mess right then. In your stunning lacy gown that hugged your curves in all the right places, you looked positively radiant. I, meanwhile, in my ripped jeans and camo-print tee-shirt, felt strangely out of place as a smartly-dressed Lena in her sharp tuxedo zipped past us with a wave and a joyful 'Cheers luv!'

'Mhmm', you twirled a strand of your silken-looking hair between those hypnotic fingers as you gave me a once over, then again. I was feeling increasingly hot and bothered under your scrutiny, and the fact that I was subtly making passes at your bits with my eyes for the third time was beginning to make me question if I might swing that way indeed...

'Would you like to accompany me to the party?'

'W-wah', I swallowed to cut off my stammer, 'but isn't it a... you know... adult only party?'

'I-', you started, before I cut you off.

'-not that, you know, I really care too much about that', I hastily added, sniffling and holding my head high as I tried to swagger my way out of my flustered state. I lowered my voice to a more conspirational level, 'but my Mom might not approve... you see...'

'Hmm,' you stopped to ponder for a second. Later, I would know that you were just pretending to; you had already decided that you would have me come along with you anyways. 'We'll work it out. Let's go!'

Which was how I found myself sipping fruity smelling wine from a really nice little glass as I eyeballed your body while you twirled in Jack's arm.

'Beautiful...', I muttered.

'Yes.'

I almost died on the spot. Slowly, almosy imperceptably, I turned my head to my left side, a ball forming in my stomach.

'Fareeha', my mother gave a little salute with just her pointing and middle finger briefly touching her forehead. 'Fancy seeing you here.'

'Mom I-'

'-hush now', she shushed, eyes on the slowly swaying crowd, not looking at me. Someone had put on something really cheerful; the upbeaty rhythms had everyone moving to the beats- the residential DJ Noodle was putting on a great show. 'Let's not make a scene.'

I held my tongue and nervously sipped my alcohol, the fiery burn in my throat now suddenly seeming like a wonderful distraction as my eyes followed every move the younger you made on the dance floor. There were easily over a hundred people in the large conference room; most of the adult members of Overwatch's Alpha team were here, along with a lot of the on base staff who provided maintenance and resupply services; the such. It was a grand affair despite its seeming non-plussed nature, after all; in effect it was just an annual year end party with a lot of catered food and maybe some good wines and yet, it was special. Also; the big German man was looking absolutely well put together tonight; he looked _so_ crisp in that suit and tie, good man.

'You like her.'

I sputtered my drink all over the front of my jeans. Ana was staring straight ahead, her eyes on a certain blonde on the dance floor.

'W-what I don-'

'-you like Angela Ziegler.'

I didn't know what to say to that, so I snapped at the napkins on the table and went to dab clumsily at my wine-stained jeans even though it was useless, really; the alcohol had seeped into the cloth by then, and there was no immediate way to remove it.

'I hope you know what you're getting into.'

A few heartbeats had passed before I registered what she was saying.

'Y...you don't disapprove?', I asked haltingly, not quite believing that my Mom wasn't really going to just _not_ shoot me down like that.

'I do', she nodded. 'And more than just a little.' Ana sighed softly and raised her glass at Reinhardt, who was waving enthusiastically at her from the floor. 'But since when did you ever heed my opinions on matters in your life anyways', I swear I saw her winked as she was probably referencing about my stubborn refusal to not walk down the soldier's path, 'eh?'

'I...'

'Hush now', she smiled for the first time, and although it did not reach her eyes, there was the slightest, most minute twinkle in those deep brown irises of her, 'go, my falcon. Go, and ask her for a dance.'

I blanched.

'Show me she's worth it for yourself and don't worry about trying to make it like she's worth it for me.'

'Mom...'

'Go now.'

I nodded.

'Okay.'

(break)

'Yes. That is very interesting, in fac-Fareeha?', Strike Commander Jack Morrison paused mid stride, and mid-sentence, as he looked over your shoulder and blinked at me.

'H-hey', I raised a hand by way of greeting.

'Fareeha?', you turned, the full radiance of your smile being bestowed upon me causing my heart to drop to my stomach. 'What are you doing here?'

'I... um...', I shuffled on my feet.

'-I think she would like a dance with you, ', Jack- thank god for that man- grinned and tipped his head slightly as he took his hand off your waist and stepped back. 'I wish you two a good night!'

And then he was suddenly off.

Tobjorn spun on one side over there like a man possessed, his braided beard tossed every which way much to the amusement of a ruggedly handsome young Mccree, who was nursing what I dared guess was some sort of imported moonshine. Winston had his glasses perched on his nose as he sniffed at Noodle's soundboards and woofers with look of wonder on his face to the young DJ's bemusement. My mom had gone to talk to the Strike Commander while Gabe was nowhere to be seen; the man was probably locked up in his quarters with a sixpack of beer and the holoprojector tuned in to some action flicks.

'So...', I fiddled with my thumbs behind my back as I stared at your feet. Before it could get any more awkward, you had taken the initiative and daringly reached out to take my arms in your own.

'Here', you muttered softly as you placed my limp right hand onto your waist. The feeling of your skin there, even through the layer of cloth, made my throat go dry. My limbs felt like lead, and so my eyes slowly went up your body- not to check you out, I swear- until our gazes locked, and I saw your other hand approaching my face before I knew what was happening.

'A-angela?'

'Look at me when you dance with me, Faree', you said softly as you tipped my chin up with just the tip of your fingers. 'That hand goes here.' You took my other hand in yours, and our fingers entwined.

'Relax, ja?'

I could not relax. As you swayed with the music, we jerked sharply and almost lost our balance. Oh boy; in my jumbled state of mind, I had kept my feet planted as you attempted to guide me along in the dance.

'Sorry!', I squeaked as I hastily _walked_ to keep up with you.

'Loosen up', you smiled. I became extremely self-conscious and began watching your graceful feet for clues on how to perform this _weird_ dance thing. 'Faree!', your tone was chiding; hurt. I immediately looked up.

'Look into my eyes!', you implored.

I looked.

And I absolutely _swooned_ so hard.

'Trust me.'

I nodded, as Noodle started a fresh, romantic track and the crowd let out a collective sigh.

'Hold me tighter.'

I gripped your waist. So soft. Supple. Oh god. I was getting sweat where sweat should _not_ be right now.

'Dance with me', right besides my ear, you muttered.

I did.

'Don't let go.'

(break)

There really were not a lot to do when one was bored on the base itself. Sure, I could go watch the clouds, but I only ever did that if I was in a melancholic mood or maybe if I was feeling a little bit down. Right now, I was full of pent-up energy and I was really wondering if I might steal Gabe's bike for an illegal ride around the perimeters once again like I had done a few times before, if only so I wouldn't go mad from the inactivity of the past week.

And then I saw you walking by your lone self in the direction of the southern gates.

I ran to catch up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I thank you profusely for sticking with 'Warm' for as long as you have. Truly. Eva, I hope life- and that young man you are sharing your life with right now- has been treating you good. I still look forward to visiting France so you guys can show me around hon hon baguette baguette \o/ Oko, you have been the only constant in my life in the last two weeks, and I am oh so grateful for that. Truly; thank you. Even Illustrator has died on me and I can't draw lesbian fanart anymore. What a life. Ollie; your passion and heart-warming stories of your untroubled, seemingly-carefree young days have been the much needed reprieve from the onslaught of absolute cunts who've been bothering me all week now. My thanks. I can't thank you all enough.
> 
> End of author's note. o/
> 
> Incoming rant watch out.
> 
> I've been dealing with a few issues recently. One; my feelings of incompetence. In the last two weeks I found I've been unable to go to sleep or wake up without feeling like comparing myself to everyone I know, and seeing me fail in every regards. It's kinda not helping my creations in drawing and fics; forst draft always has dead people in it- thank the gods for beta readers. I know a young man who not only travels all over the world and do all these amazing things; seeing new places, experiencing different cultures, but is also a top 500 Mercy, has a 100k subs Youtube channel and is just the most endearing person you'll meet to boot. I know an executive producer lady whose self-confidence bordering on sometimes arrogance is just the most attractive thing you can find in a person, imo. She also DJs in her free time, plays a kickass Pharah, and has just the most radiant smile- my mental image for describing how Pharah smiles in my fic, actually- you would find on either woman or man. There's a young artist who draw absolutely beautiful Pharmercy art *although I messed up some things I said and I probably can't talk to her anymore which is a tragedy* that the Pharmercy community adores, and she still has so much left in her to give. Truly; she can make such lovely art, and I believe if she continues to pursue her passion, her following can only continue to grow. I seem to like to set myself up to fail, but it is something I can't stop or control. What do you do? When you don't feel like you are enough?
> 
> Fuck me, eh?
> 
> Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Nexy chapter probably next week. Thanks for reading.


	15. Meow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N; For Bliss, and Luffel. With love, and cooki.
> 
> And for Oko. I am bad with words. So Nom Nom~~ 'I'm not looking for somebody with some superhuman gifts. Some superheroes, some fairy bliss... Just something I can turn to. Somebody I can miss. I want something just like this.'
> 
> Thanks to Luffel for helping out with some of the Japanese stuff. The lady is a godsend . I also have no idea what I am writing. I was in a queer mood at the time, anyways, I hope some of you liked it .

'I-'

'Lick it', she was curt, commanding. I stared at her hesitantly as I cradled her beautiful, supple thigh in my hands, caught between my sense of _want_ and my indecision.

'Oh _verdamnt_ ', she growled and grabbed my hair, yanking me forward.

'Ow!'

'Lick.'

I blinked rapidly as heat flushed my cheeks, then my tongue darted out experimentally and I have her bud a little taste.

'Ahhh!', she howled, back arching, and I immediately backed off with worry in my eyes.

'Ang? Are you okay? Did I hurt y-'

'Shut up', her eyes were shining, and it wasn't because of the light. She twisted my hair in her palm, and it hurt. It hurt so good; all the way down to my hair roots, sending strange, delicious tingles through my scalp and- as if there was a direct nerve running between the two places- igniting a new, vibrant heat in my wet, wet loins. 'Do it again.'

I approached, less hesitantly this time, my own wide eyes locked on to her startlingly blue, lust-hazed and _oh so slight_ _ly_ drooping ones. Brushed my nose lightly against her clit, ran the tip of my tongue against the wetness between her thighs. Just... chastely; experimentally, still. For I was new at this, after all... a-and I wanted to be gentle, so you know...

Moans and gasps turned into screams and Swiss expletives that I; beet red from the excitement of this _o so lewd_ act, and my lack of breath as I lashed at her with my now quick, dexterous tongue, could not tell.

'Faree...', she cried. _Cried!?_ Yes, tears were streaming down my sweet Angela's cheeks as she thrusted increasingly desperate thrusts against my welcoming lips, her lovely face contorted into an indescribable expression of pure, unfiltered joy. I sped up the pace, my left hand now letting go of its undying grip on the marked thigh I had in the throes of my mouting passion so ardently gripped, and moved it instead to her waist where I held; _pulled_ her against me. Because more. More. _More!_

'P-please...'

_Yes!_

'Faster. My baby!'

Impending joy. ' _Ah!'_ My own quickly stolen breaths harsh as I, too, ascended with my love the slope to ecstasy. Together we went. Higher, higher, our hearts yearning towards the fall into a sea of pure _bliss_. ' _Harder. Yes!' This is sooooo lewd_ , I had the presence of mind to think... right before my angel came with a shuddering wail and collapsed against me. Mhm...messy. Messy good~

We were probably going to have terriyaki chicken for dinner. Assuming the weather was nice, we could go and picnic at King Albert Park next Wednesday. I just hoped our neighbors wouldn't complain. But then again, Angela _love_ _d_ it when I DJ-ed, and if some edgy dude by the name of Folly was going to turn upset because they felt like they were unheard, they could go and _fuck_ themselves.

'Hoo boy', I breathed a single, shaky breath as I appraised my handiwork. 'You came pretty hard there, Ang.'

'Shut up...', she was flustered now. Not even looking at me. _Ah... so shy_. _So...cute!_ '...your baby?', I smirked, idle hand caressing a juice-slicked thigh as I began to tease her with just the littlest hint of a playful-evil glint in my eyes.

'Oh please', Ang groaned as she covered her face out of embarassment. 'I-it was spur of the moment.'

'Don't worry about it', I leaned up, slipped my hand behind the nape of her neck, and gently pulled her down for a soft little kiss. 'It was lovely', I muttered, our foreheads touching, her mesmerizing cerulean orbs drawing me in closer, _closer_.

'Ja?' That confident smile was back. She gripped my wrists and pulled me on top of her. We fell back; Ang rather roughly thrown onto the futon as I covered all of her. We kissed, again.

'Mmm', she hummed coyly as she brought her lips to right besides my ear, and cutely asked, '...let's do it again?'

I grinned from ear to ear as I answered with a nip to her neck, pinning my angel's hands by the wrists to the white, cottony mattress and revelled in the onslaught of mews and yips that I knew that _I_ was the one responsible for. She was mine. All mine. The warmth in my chest that came from that, I knew enough to realise that love was what it was. I _loved_ her. And if the mess around us were any indications to go by, hoo boy did I love her good~

But thoughts might have to wait here. Tonight, I was here with Angela to _feel_ , not to think. And some more... there was, ahem... love to be made.

(break)

Bannered Kanji hung on walls. I sipped _mch mch mch_ at my tea and subtly wiggled my bottom further into the tatami mat as I observed my angel try to make art.

'Intriguing.'

'Fuck's sake...', she groaned as she stared daggers at the brush. She held it in a fashion that to...ah... _non-sophisticated_ me looked very posh. Japanese and their customs, man; they were some of the most cultured folks I had seen in my life- and believe me, cause boy had I been places. Angela was not making a lot of process, though.

'I am watching', I tried not to smirk.

'Ughh...', she moaned with frustration as we both stared at the still-blank parchment pinned to the wooden stand in front of our little wannabe Swiss artist.

'Just like... draw a line, dude', I suggested. She paused.

_Shit_.

Angela turned on me, visceral, ink-dipped swinging dangerously between those dainty finger tips.

' _Just draw a line!?'_ , she practically screeched.

_Oh fuck. Abort, abort abort!_

'A... I mean', I gulped as she began dropped the thing and began pawing towards me like a momma tiger. She looked like she was about to eat me alive or something, for insulting art.

'I didn't mean t-AUGHH!', I yelped as I was tackled. _Hooooly shit!_

'Mrow!', she bit my neck and slipped her hands behind my back, futilely trying to unclasp my claspless kimono.

'Fuck fuck fuck', she growled against me as she went to work ruining my attire. I mean come on, sex and all, but these things weren't cheap!

'Mmm', she found my breast and latched on, and then it was no holds barred, and then we began going at it hammer and tongs.

Hoo boy...

That vacation in Japan, we really had a lot of sex.

Welp.


	16. And that, is how you Play

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: No idea what I am writing.

Abandon.

There is something so exciting and, well...I don't know. I tingle, yes, but that is by no means the end of it. In my mind, I feel wild, just simply an utterly _wild_ sense of abandon. It's scary, and strangely liberating at the same time.

'Ruin me', I whimpered as she grazed those front teeth of her past the side of my neck, her deft tongue flicking out- catching the creation of a bead of sweat forming on my nape. Warm, wet lips trailing butterfly kisses down my collarbone. Then back up again, like a dedicated painter working on a billboard in those olden days; a mastercraftswoman dedicated to perfection; compelled to not _miss a single spo_ _t_.

'Worship me.'

She licked past it and I gasped. Arched. Pressed myself against her lush form, silently raging at the thin layers of cloth that kept us from touching flesh to flesh, still.

'My _property_...', she said. I moaned, my head tilting to one side to give her access. Her teeth tracing now the shapes along my firm jawline, dropping down to my neck again, marking me with a love bite. Pausing; thoughtful, before my jugular. Would she bite me? Drain me like some sort of vampire, maybe that's how she maintained her youth? My mind flitted to an imaginary scenario of a... um... Countess Angela Ziegler on a throne in a velvety, blood-colored robe, her dark red eyes twinkling as I; a bound Egyptian slave, was brought to my knees before her throne, the chains scraping along the ground as faceless Praetors stood in line at my back... Kinky, yup. As it was, my mind had no time to drift, for I was under constant attack, and it felt _good_. For an agent code named Mercy, she was utterly merciless. The knee undulatingly grinding against my pelvis had pressed fully against me, holding my hips down. My erratic thrusting upwards to try and just _get that feeling_ was denied largely because; flush against the mattress as I was, I had no leverage to execute my desperate motions. But _pleasure_...

By the Gods.

'Mhm', she husked, tongue now teasing my ear lobes. My wrists; no weak frilly things, I tell you; were powerless in her grasps. Which would have been funny; Angela barely weighed anything. But still- it _delighted_ me to surrender. It _thrilled_ me to submit.

' _Pin me down.'_

_'Break me apart. Make me fall.'_

_Yes!'_

She feasted on my neck. Nips, yips. Mewl. From... me. She was marking... me. I _loved_ it.

'Mein. Mein, all mein.'

'Mine?'

Nodding, more licking and suckling, her more petite form draped all over weight was... comforting. Do I flip her? I could _hold_ her down. She liked it. She liked when I used force. Grabbed her by the hair and dragged her onto the bed, throwing. _Throwing!_ Throwing her roughly onto our sheets, unbuttoning my shirt so quick as I already worked to undress her with my hooded lids, wondering now why the _heck_ did I just not wear tank tops or tee shirts or whatever the fuck it was that was maybe easier to pull off than a damn button up sweater. Maybe I was dumb.

Anyways.

She sat back, straddled me, a vibrant smile painted on her face. Flushed, the blood pumping. There; those dilated pupils. Excited. I gushed because I knew that it was all because of _me_.

'Neigh~', I smirked. She smacked me across the face. _Shit_ it hurts. Angela was not the, hmm, so to say _functional_ type. At least not by my standards. She liked to keep her nails just a little long so she could- claw out bloody lines on my wide muscled back as she rode out the throes of her passion, locked to me while we orgasmed into the next day- be a fancy little _girl_ and _play_ around with her nail polish thingies, and whatnot... But those nails hurt. Not recommended to have them rake your cheeks unless you are a kinky little miss who was afraid of no horny Swiss and was ready to be dominated in the bedroom. _Like me_...

'Are you fucking serious? Did you just make a horse sound at me?''I-'

'Answer me', she screeched, slim hands wrapped around my neck. I was being throttled. She leaned her weight into choking me.

'-ack.'

'Nu-uugh- FUCK!'

'nope.'

She flipped. I twisted her arms behind her back at a precarious angle, such that the slightest movement would send so much pain into her she would break. Now underneath me, she didn't look so tough after all.

'Faree...'

'Ye-'

'-ARGHhhhhuuggg', she screamed. Stupid. She tried to distract me and make me lower my guard by purring my name. Not a chance in hell. Angela had tried to burst free of the arm lock, but she had only hurt herself with her incompetence.

'Stay down', I dropped my hold to palm her head and slammed her down against the soft queen-size. I brought my lips right next to hers. 'Comprehendo?'

'Y..', she had tears brimming in her eyes. _Daww_... the poor thing. I twisted her hair and made her quake as the wetness of her sobs now stained the nice pillow, 'y-yes.'

'Good girl.'

' _Hic',_ she mewled. Aww... how cute. And powerless, before me. I grabbed both wrists with a single large, calloused palm, the other free hand wasting no time in darting between our close space; down _there_ , to tease at her overflowing wetness. No mercy.

Stimulation caused her arms to tremble. No doubt they sought to be free so she could lay her hands on me, too. But I wouldn't allow her that.

I was relentless, stroking at those flowery folds with but the _tip_ of my fingers, gently caressing with the back of my firm digits as she bucked and thrashed and panted like a _bitch_ into the mattress as she _begged_ for more. Her hips growing desperate, her motions jerky; like a clockwork lady- uncoordinated, the individual parts yearning to reach release _oh so desperately_ they moved ahead on their own, losing all sense of unison as her tongue hung out; panting, her sweat-beaded head twisted back seemingly almost unnaturally as she tried to lock eyes with me even as I twisted- _pulled_ her hair back. 'Please...', she has unraveled. A desperate little _slut_ begging to be allowed to cum. I felt powerful. Powerful and _gooood_. All this was because of me. Me. _Me._

'What are you?', I smirked cruelly, adding a finger as she continued to writhe and buck under my masterful ministrations, her breaths coming in such short little gasps one would have thought she was hyper-ventilating. The poor, _poor_ thing.

'W-what am I?', she gasped out. I leaned down close, whispered in her ear. My lovely Angela, so red now a comparison to the ripest of South African fresh picked tomatoes would do no justice, stopped her humping for a second and went silent as I leaned in even closer, so I could whisper it again.

'...yes!?', she squeaked, her senses overloaded.

'What are you?', I pressed, my voice low; husky.

'I', she gulped as she locked eyes with me. Oh... those lovely, lovely baby blues were just _so_ cute.

'I'm... I'm your bitch.'

We came.

(break)

Cocoa.

The night was cold, but I was glad I had her with me to keep myself warm. Snow fell indifferently outside; our mugs of hot chocolatey goodness kept our hands and breaths warm as we took it all in.

'This is nice', a soft murmur from the pile of blankets besides me. I hummed my agreement. 'I should go and check on the cookies, wouldn't want them overbaked.'

My glance flicked to the wall mounted clock. Eleven minutes; that's how long it took for choco chip cookies to bake in the speed oven. It was finishing up on ten.

'I'll go get it', I patted Angela's head and somewhat reluctantly disentangled myself from the blanket fort we had built for ourselves on the sofa, then made my way to the kitchen.

The cookies did smell pretty good.

I returned to my angel, and our little nest, and we kissed and hugged and cuddled alot~

Because that was the kind of things happy lesbian couples did on lazy Sunday afternoons.

And it was... sweet~!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Eva your french friends are coolio. How are things with Sam? *winkwonk* ask her out yet? *im joking hon hon baguette baguette dun shoot me D*BDSM. Big issue of contention. With mein french frie I mean friend Kaira, I have discovered more about my sexuality in the past two days than in the last seven years, and I feel... out of control. I can't quite sit down, or think straight. I feel convoluted; I question all my beliefs, all my past experience. Everything. I am also playing ten hours of Overwatch tomorrow so baby we got that. Sub 2000 from season high 23 hundred. Why are we still here, just to suffer... I think it's pretty damn obvious by now that Warm in the Cold was plotted with a beginning point and an end point in mind, two anchor dots on opposite sides of a Photoshop template, and absolutely ZERO planned checkpoints between the two places. That means we are going to go absolutely every fucking where, yeehaw! Weeeee! Self-harm, depression, stress. Love, fluff, porn. Children, war, piano. Lesbians, guns, Omnics. We have covered a lot of things. Most, I draw from personal experience, a few; I gain from those I interact with (Oko you give me fluff ur cute). But it's a feels-dump; I write better when I am overloaded- and I am overwhelmed easily. There's a reason why it was 1 chapter a week 2 weeks ago, and now 3 chapters in 72 hours. But this time, curiosity surrounds me. What is BDSM. What is play. How do I...play? How do I... break...? Do some like them broken? How do I... lots of questions. No real answers. A bloody mess, folks. Dear Guest reviewer who left the uplifting message about um 20 hours ago on chapter 14, I sat at my desk and sent positive vibes to you through the Force. I hope your day went brilliantly, with kitties that went 'mrow meow nom nom weeee!' and cooki that came your way aplenty. May your crops be fertile and your children grow up stronk liek Germoney. I do not jest. Thank you so much. You are a good dude( in which case beware because I am very gay for all the sexes but at this time of day-NO NOT HIGHNOON IM IN BED NOW ITS MIDNIGHT- i am leaning towards boys ) or dudette (in which we shall have very detailed talks on the state of men's butts in the current world of high fashion, and have crumpets and tea and act fancy like, and maybe find out more about life and just be friends because amen boys and girls can be friends its lovely we dont have to advance no no red light). Anyhows, life in film school is soooo hectic and i will be busy next week, so maybe no next chapter so soon, welp. But thanks for sticking around for as long as you have. Joy, i sometimes forget i even have you as my beta reader ;-; shoot me. Im so sorry. I never think when i write or post. Maybe i will try and run it by you nezt tme *winkwonk*. JellySquid signing out. o7


	17. Global Risk

**17.** **Global Risk**

_Alaska..._

Flick.

The safety on her energy sub machine gun; off. Click, the visor slid fully into her helmet, the HUD immediately coming alive, her eyelids fluttering briefly, still stung from the cold. Lock; one final check to make sure her translocators were exactly where they were supposed to be- within arm's reach and ready to deploy at any time. With the wind still beating at her face relentlessly, the Latina hacker took a deep breath, and stepped towards the cliff.

Ghostly yellow lights shone through the torrential snowdrifts. Three dozen flickering heat signatures emanated from the transports, and her left middle finger twitched as she stepped forward... into thin air.

Fall.

The wind screaming past her ears as she accelerated down what was literally a vertical drop. The cold air so bitter; and yet- at the same time- so good. She felt alive. More alive than she had ever been. More than smoking weed. More than seeing Widowmaker breathe rainbows when she was miles high on crack cocaine. More alive, than _anything_.

' _Apagando las luces!_ '

Shrieks.

The panicked Helix personnel as they levelled drained energy rifles at her, pulled on the triggers repeatedly, and found that there was no effect. Repurposed Bastion-esque auto turrets sat silent on the backs of escort trucks, inert and oblivious to the screams of their masters as the hacker flung her translocators across the snow and dozens of armed-to-the-teeth Talon operatives blinked into existence.

Bullets.

The rapid _ta-ta-ta_ of machine gun fire. Remodified HK-35s spat metal death at the Helix personnel, who fell quickly underneath precision fire by the elite Talon strike operators before a single one of them could even call out through their radios for help. Not that it would have worked; the hacker's EMP blast had rendered all of their tech gizmos useless. As the last of the opposition hit the cold, packed dirt, she sashayed past the ranks of her masked men and women and hopped into the cabin of the leading truck. With a few taps on her wrist mounted Dominatrix the system had come back online; retrofitted into a purple layout that hovered before her.

A few taps more, and contact with the Spectre was made.

'Status' Reaper rasped.

She smirked as her eyes went to survey the carnage.

'Sombra online.'

(break)

_Athens..._

Their footsteps echoed loudly in the hallway as the two of them made their hurried way down to Command. The entire helicarrier shook as another devastating impact shook the massive ship. The few klaxons that had yet to blared took up in a united chorus of 'WEWEWEWEW', and emergency green lights flickered on in the area just behind them as Mercy and Pharah broke into a full on run for the loading docks.

They burst into the room right in the middle of a holovid conference between Naveen and an older woman, the few staff not having their heads plugged into their monitors turning slightly to give them a look.

'-right now!'

'Understood, ma'am.'

The holo went dark, revealing a view of a bustling loading bay with dozens of Vikings shooting off their launch pads heading for the fight that had suddenly found its way to them.

'What are your orders, Lieutenant?', Pharah asked, staring him straight in the eyes. Which was amusing; she was taller than him by at least four inches- the man looked like a private staring up at the Captain.

'G-get out there and keep watch.'

'Keep watch?', Pharah raised an eyebrow, her left pinkie drumming on the barrel of her rocket launcher as she appraised the man before her and wondered if she should take the chain of command and go hang him with it.

'Yes.'

A moment of silence. Then, she nodded.

'Alright. Understood, sir', turning to Mercy, she said, 'let's keep the skies clear together.'

And they were off.

(break)

_Still Athens..._

Junior Airman 1st class Tom 'Squid' Nguyen was not looking forward to ending his life here. Not today.

It was getting just a little too hot in the cockpit for his liking, and he blinked the sweat beading past his eyelids rapidly away as his hand gripped the the joystick with a vice-like grip and he swerved the Viking off to the left side, narrowly avoiding the airborne shockblast of a detonating Punisher Missile. Despite that, his craft wombled a little, and Squid had concern on his face as his free hand patted the console of his Viking; the FlyingSquid.

The FlyingSquid turned, doing an almost hundred eighty flip as he thumbed the two green switches and reversed all four thrusters while the Viking spun in the air and began zipping backwards. A brief moment of extreme inertia claimed him and Squid nearly blacked out. But the craft levelled, he regained control, and went 'holy shit!' just in time to jerk the joystick- he called it chicken- to the left again to avoid hitting Captain Pharah as she whizzed past, Doctor Ziegler, or rather Mercy following right after, thrusters screaming.

'Sorry sorry sorry sorry so-'

'-shut it Squid!', his squadron mate Heezeru yelled. Squid flustered; he had forgotten he was still in the team comms channel. 'Three bad guys to your 2 o'clock!'

He tilted the chicken and felt gravity pushing him back in the hard plushy chair all the way until tiny pinpricks of pain stabbed at his eyeballs as the Gs mounted rapidly, making literally his entire body compress. The FlyingSquid went vertically up, through the stratosphere with a vengeance and right up _past_ the mesosphere. Tom only turned back when the edges of his vision began to show the inky blackness of space, fully reassured that his pursuers had left him behind. He glanced at his radar. They had.

'Weeeeee!', he gurgled as he _spun_ the chicken, and the FlyingSquid nosedived _right_ back into international airspace above Greece. From this altitude, the combatants were but little ants, barely visible but for the constant bursts of rocketfire and chains of smoothbore cannon lead.

He tore right past the upper layers of swarming Specs, and ended up right in the thick of a murderously massive dogfight as he held down on the red buttons that made the FlyingSquid shot things, and screamed 'waaaaaaa!' as he passed right through, leaving fire and destruction in his wake. To be honest Junior Airman First Class Tom 'Squid' Nguyen had no idea who he had shot. But the sky seemed to be a little more clear of Specs, and even if the helicarrier looked like it had taken some delibitating hits it was still very much holding airborne.

Squid concluded that all was swell.

'Holy sh-'

**'Justice rains from above!** '

Squid gasped as explosions filled the air through the visor of his cockpit. Dozens of heat seeking Helix missiles found live targets; which were promptly eliminated. Collective gasping was had as all the Viking Pilots saw the threat counter on their visors drop to an exact 0. They had... _won_? There was Lady Mercy herself, drifting in an angelic descent right above the Lady of Justice, a blue beam- that if Squid recalled correctly was damage boost- linking the two.

Damage boosted rockets whizzed past as the last of the burning Spectre husks fell out of the sky, and over the comms Squid heard the applause pick up.

'Yeah!', Heezeru started with an enthusiastic cheer, 'that's how you do it!'

But he wasn't looking at the victorious Lady of Justice. No. Squid was squinting at his radar through the fogged up lens of his flight helmet. _Shit_.

'What in tarnation.'

Dozens of blips strayed into the display's peripherals, and his gaze was somber as he gripped the chicken and turned his FlyingSquid plane to level the 50mm smoothbore Ravager canons at the oncoming flock of Spectres that just _didn't know how to quit_.

'Form up', the comms crackled. Captain Pharah, too, had sighted the enemy reinforcements. Squid saw expended rocket catridges dropping from her wrist launchers as she reloaded and conducted the Vikings into a lattice around her. 'This is not over yet.'

Tom reaffirmed his grip on the chicken in hand and patted his FlyingSquid.

_I am going to have burgers and fries for dinner tonight_.

He was ready.

(break)

_New York..._

'Kafar Crisps, sixty bucks, premium quality...'

'...incoming from three o'clock, ETA six minutes. Do you copy, over.'

'Kafar Crisps, sixty bucks, premium quali-'

_Ack_. A single pistol shot silenced the electronic advertisement banner, and Pharah stared ahead grimly as she turned her attention back to the silence in her headset. Static.

'Copy that Mamaship, over and out.'

Sergeant Olivers gave two curt chops with her index, and Captain Pharah ducked as she crawled along the concrete embankments away from the light, back into the darkness and radio silence of the sewers. The Hudson river stank like a... Pharah shook her head, eyes forward as her ears strained out to listen for the telltale _wap wap wap_ of those baby looking Omnics sloshing through the water, through the steady soft banging of her HK-36 against the metal of her armored thigh.

'Come in.'

She nodded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hey the 7 followers and 9 favourites. Are you reading this? I hope so, because I appreciate it! I appreciate it dearly. Thank you for the support. I would be lying if I said watching the numbers rise didn't prompt me to write, because they sure did! Anyhoos... suppppppper busy week at Film School and I've also really gotten into drawing, so come over to the lovely Pharmercy discord to see mine and many other amazing artists' art! It was fun and exciting to write the action packed sequences, and if you liked it.. well... do leave a comment! Tell me what you liked, and what you want more of \o/ Until next time! :D


	18. Souls Entwined

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Find your peace, folks.

'Aa..', I whimpered. Red stemmed from below my ribs. My collapsing lungs gasped, and I shuddered as my eyes went out of focus, but only momentarily; as fast as possible my brown eyes refocused on her face. Those gentle, dirt-grimed features contorted into such a pitiful expression of helplessness and sorrow, as she tried to hold both hands down above my ribs. It broke my poor heart to see her this way. My Angela... my Angela should only ever have a smile. It... was my fault.

Olivers shrieked as concussive blasts rained down on the Helix formations. That Viking support we needed was not coming; I dreaded to imagine the swarms of Spectres from our reconnaisance earlier that might have somehow routed and smashed our reinforcement crafts.

'Not...enough', I started to murmur, the late afternoon sun cutting beams on my angel's cheeks. Yes. Now. Now she was an angel of grief. I was truly, truly... sad. It wouldn't make a difference, though... The slug had exploded _inside_ my chest cavity. Stemming the blood flow; even _if_ she could accomplish such a thing, would be next to useless. Not that I didn't appreciate her for having tried.

'Smoke screens, six o'clock!' Many tosses, a thick layer of smog to confuse and disorient the enemy. _How long?_ A question I didn't want to ask. _Ta-ta-ta_ went the M60 monster slugs as Tessa unloaded into the shadows of our enemies. _Enough?_ Maybe.

'Ang...'

She was crying.

'No no no no', she chanted under her breath fervently, not looking at me; wholly focussed on trying to stop the red river from my chest, 'this is not how it end. This is not...'

'...stop...', I rasped. 'L-lo...look at me.'

'-this is n-'

'Stop!', I wheezed and shook. She immediately flew down to beside my head, her hands cupping my cheeks, her tear-stained cheeks rubbing against mine as she brought her forehead to mine to still my coughing fit. I felt her small body trembled as bloody froth came out from the left side of my mouth.

I was... dying.

'Fareeha...'

'sor-ryyy...' the air escaped with each empty lungful of air. Inhaling was futile; my time was on the clock. A few breaths left. A few breaths and I would... I would expire.

'This is not how it ends.'

'Can't do much without your staff now can you', one final sentence from me. One last solid sentence. Her tears came down in rivers. Was I cruel? Yes. But I was bitter. I wanted to grow old with her. Adopt kids. Live until our final days, her in my hold. Wake up to a thousand and more sunrises, to be greeted by her morning kiss. Twirl her on the dance floor, hands on her hips, as we serenaded the entire ballroom. Watch the galaxy from a hill, together; just the two of us. That was the way it was _supposed_ to be. N-not like this...

'No.'

My eyes were on her. A question, unformable, in the back of my lips. Artillery died, and silence claimed our position. What was happening? Ah, the ground assault. The Omnics were no dummies, they would know not to shoot when they would have surrounded us so their ground assault units could walk up to us unblasted by friendly fire.

So we were encircled.

Nice.

'That's not true.' Angela whispered. 'There is still something.'

My gaze flicked back to her lips.

'I still have this,' she whispered, hands coming to cup her chest. The lines on her palms igniting brilliant golden light as she gasped. My heart stopped as I saw the halo began illuminating our little space. What?

'What the f-', Olivers turning, HK-36 pointed at the ground, mouth agape. 'Holy shit.'

'Wat are you doi-', my eyes widened as it hit me. I panicked. 'No!'

But I was too weak. I made no sound; not even a rasp. Too weak...

'Take my soul...'

'No! NO!', silent screams in my chest. _That. Wouldn't. Come. Out._

_'Nooooo! Don't do it!'_

She smiled. One last gentle smile as she held her nurturing hands below the gently glowing sphere of golden light, and lowered it to my heart. Her eyes faded, the blood turning dry, and she softly fell against me as her palms finally put it in all the way and she collapsed. Broken wings jutted up at the sky, a silent statement to the injustice of it all. Injustice... of it all. The Caduceus lay broken, cast off to the side.

Where was my starry nights? My dancefloor whispers? Where was my early mornings rising to her demure kiss?! I needed her. I loved her. I couldn't live without her! She was my life... It does not end this way, n-no... No. No! Not like this. Not like this! NOT LIKE THIS! Silent tears dripped down my face.

' _I love you._ '

'Don't do this', I sobbed as strength returned, and life filled me with its ardent embrace once again.

' _I love you, mein liebling.'_

_'Please don't do this. I beg you. Let me die instead, pl-'_

_'I love you.'_

Echoes, in my mind, for she was now silent... and still. Or was it because our souls were as one now, and I could hear her thoughts? No. A soft, the softest, slightest wind brushed at my face, where she lie against my charred, broken breast plate. The Raptorian was in pieces, but inside it, I was healing rapidly. Ang... took her final breath.

Dead.

I screamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What the fuck did I just write. Talk to me someone.
> 
> See y'all next time. Hope y'all liked the cameo by Squid in the last chapter's aerial wombat. That's me. o7


	19. Sterben Nicht

'She's stable.'

'Thank you!,' I tackled him. Hugged him fiercely. Tears of unfiltered joy streamed down my cheeks. 't-thank you so much!'

'I', Winston hesitated as he pushed those iconic glasses up his nose and appraised me somewhat wearily as he shook off my hug and shifted backwards, 'there will be side effects...'

But his words were lost on my ears. I didn't hear him anymore. My feet had carried themselves forward of their own volition and so I banged the A-class ward door open, rushing in to her bedside, startling a young redheaded nurse in the process.

'Ang!', I shook her hand.

'Ma'am, I'm afraid y-'

'-QUIET!', I snarled at her and she cowered, fear showing in her eyes as I loomed over her. 'Ang...', turning back to you, I called.

'Wake up...'

'Please wake up.'

(break)

The silence of the ward was oppressive, but I was a little too tired to notice. Or maybe I did, but then I was too engrossed in you to care. I felt like a zombie. My senses fuzzed. It was hard to see where you were, what was going on. The air conditioned coolness brushed at my face, tempting me to sleep and I almost sunk, sunk under the surface of consciousness...

But I felt a little squeeze.

'Ang!', I gushed. I brought my lips to your cheeks, kissing you with light little pecks loaded with desperate love and affection and held your limp hand in my own and squeezed it again, and again because I was desperate. I was desperately hoping that I had not imagined it, that the little squeeze you gave was real. My exhaustion lapped at me in waves and it was all I could do not to collapse on you and pass out. So tired...

Your eyelids fluttered and joy blossomed in my heart. At last, you were awake. At last, you were... here, with me. I was so happy.

'..ha...', the softest little sound from your lips as I leaned in even closer. My exhaustion was forgotten; gone.

'Ang?', I repeated like a dummy as I took in your awakening visage. Your lips twitched. Your features morphed ever so slightly and my now-wakeful eyes tracked every little movement as I squeezed your hand even tighter and brought it to my lips, to kiss it, with reverence.

'Wake up, Ang... please. Please wake up..', I muttered as I waited, the steady beeping of the heart monitor perhaps the only sound if I tuned out the pounding in my ear drums and the whisper-like blow of the air condition unit. My hair was dried and hung dead in spots, sticking to my forehead in the better places. I probably stank, and on a side note I had not taken a shit for two days, so I probably smelled like shit. This morning's food lay cold and untouched inside its plastic cover on the bedside table, right besides my keychains which I had discarded there ever since I came in last week. Besides it lay a torn-up pile of envelopes and a slightly less shabby pile of read letters; well-wishes and encouragement from friends and family, near and far.

Silence, as I waited for you to recover enough to compose yourself.

Beep.

 _'Hold strong, my falcon'_ , Ana's words ring in my ears as my gaze drifted past the stack of letters again and I remember what she said.

_'Think of your dove. Think of what she always says. Have faith, habibti.'_

_'Heroes never die.'_

 

 


	20. Another Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Warning; Ultra violence, rape-y scenes and condescending attitude)

There is a bounce in her steps, an energy born of youth and carefree-ness that I have not seen for a long time. The girl exclaims aloud as she sees something interesting; was it a butterfly, a flower, a rock? I couldn't really tell. I didn't really care. It could be anything.

Ipso facto, non amet.

She skips along the beaten down path, hamper in hand swinging as she hummed a sweet, melodic tune to no one but herself, and I feel my pupils dilate as my mind took me places and I derobed her youthful form with practised ease and not the slightest hint of guilt; I had done this for a long time, after all. It had been a while since I had lain neither eyes nor hands on anything but the mature forms of haremwhores and poor, battered run-away women. But here she was- a maiden; young, sweet... delicious.

I licked my lips.

(break)

It is sunny on the field of grass. An infinite stretch of flora and fauna, bathed in soft golden sunshine, all the way to horizon's edge, so warm and _tingly_ and _soft_ I almost gagged from my place of concealment safe, within the shadows of an aged magohany tree. Out of children's fairytale books a sight so gentle and filled with the full glory of Mother Nature's life-giving love it would have made any human child drop their things and be filled with the a desire to wade into the flower field and break out in joyous song and dance, unabated.

And the young girl did just that.

It is a mystery, to me, this... er... swirl of feet. Her long, sleeveless dress is plain but drape loosely around her body, fixing around breasts and hips to reveal an unsensual, innocent yet- at least to the pervert that is me- such _titillating_ beauty. She has a proper juvenile charm as she pat a sunflower or whatever in creation those things are called. The dynamics of her steps contrast, differences of urgency within single motions culminating in curious little sparks of emotions that remains, still-as always, a mystery to me. Jerky yet graceful, unplanned but flowing with naturality like the mindless meander of rivers down rock beds. I also had no idea what I was saying; it seemed to me like she was using chaotic synchronization, storm-within-a-tea-cup, short passionate bursts in a light routine so out and apart from the movements of the everyday to bring that something to her _dance_. That something to make it _art_. It was a _mess_. I did _not_ understand it. But I lusted inside at the nubile youth beneath her thin, white cloth... just.. right.. there...

I rolled my eyes.

Dance. Confusing. I was riling myself up analyzing her- oh curse my analytical self- but there was nothing else to do. Really, maybe she was a dancer, practicing everyday, only now free to express her motions alone- not quite, but I could indulge that belief- on a sunlit field.

All that crap, or maybe she also had no idea what she was doing and was shuffling like a tossed-out drunk, flapping arms like a waddling duck, that stupid smile plastered on her lips as she twirled in the sunlight because she was too young and unaware to have yet tasted the bitterness of this wretched _lif_ _e_.

I stopped, analyzing the brevity and courage of a little orange squirrel that had scampered to eye-level opposite me, on the opposite tree. It waved.

I smiled.

'Shoo.' It scampered off, perhaps suddenly realizing I was not quite the run-of-the-mill dumb human trying to climb trees to forage and shit. Non, I was a blood sucking batwoman, and it had realized soon enough to flee.

Two canopies above I could hear it's high pitched squeaks.

My eyes flicked.

'Oof!'

My body tensed as she fell onto the bed of flowers and panted for breath, dainty hand brought up to flick off rivulets of sweat atop her sheen-glazed forehead and face.

'Phew! That sure was tiring!', she sighed as she admired the sunshine, again. How theatrical, how very drama-esque. It had been a while since I heard someone speak like that.

But then again, she had not come from these parts; the daughter of a plague-doctor and his alchemist wife, Angela Ziegler had come from the snowy white mountains beyond, bringing with her her strange mannerisms, blond looks, and a light, mysterious tinkling accent.

Her cloth rode up her thigh by accident and I stared.

(break)

There were three of them. Large, muscular, heavy-breathing beasts with biceps the radius of my head and inflamed loins reeking of so much disgusting male excitement I scrunched up my nose as I perched felinely atop a single thin, delicate branch, shielded by my own Shade, and concealed by the darkish canopy.

'There she is', the left one whispers as they rustle noisily in the bush, scattering insects and disturbing birds.

The stupid blonde girl was too busy smiling at life to notice.

They panted, lustily. The one on the right makes a salicious remark about filling her so much his seed would leak out from her mouth. The one in the centre rub his large, meaty hands together and then tug on his junk jerkily through the cloth of his pants, lowkey whispering to himself- or to the rest, I didn't want to know- about filling every orifices the young lass had with his baby butter. Ugh...

I wanted to vomit.

Men. Such disgusting, filthy creatures. It was almost unbearable.

Angela passed by right underneath.

'GRAKKKK!', they exploded out of concealment, screaming a scary shout and the maiden dropped her flowerbasket out of fright, eyes frozen in shock and body unmoving as the three men began running at her.

' _Run you idiot_ ', I muttered under my breath as her feet twitched, as if her brain was deciding whether to make an escape or try to stand and hold her ground. Fight or flight. Fight or flight. Fight or f-

'Ahh!', she yelps as the first brute jumps on her. The clearing is pierced with a strangled cry as large, calloused palms find young breasts through her clothing and squeeze, hard.

' _Gods above... this is sickening_ ', I turn away, focussing on a trail of tiny black ants along an oak tree, ferrying some white bits of food. Anything to distract my darned sensitive senses from the sight. Anything t-

'-please! No! S-'

'-old down her hand, Igor!', they get to work pinning her against the dirtied ground.A heathen thrust his hand against her underclothes and savagely grope her _there_. She began crying. High-pitched, desperate cries that were cut off into a helpless moans as the left one jerked back her blond hair and assaulted her sensitive area; neck. '-icious this one, good catch mate!'

_Rip!_

The tattered clothings fell away and the beasts descended on her maiden flesh with mouths that bit and left angry marks and hands that groped and hurt because they were base creatures driven by the most simple of desires, disgusting pigs that... that deserved to be...

'Ughhh I'm gonna regret this', I mumbled to myself as I forced myself to look, leaned slightly forward, and gracefully fell from my hiding place, landing with the grace of an Imperial Russian ballerina- those girls were flexible- and cleared my throat to attract the attention of the beasts.

'Boys.'

'Wh-'

He never got the chance to finish.

Time slowed to a crawl; an illusion, really. Time was in fact progressing at the same rate as always. It only seemed to flow like jell because I was moving so _fast_.

I powered forward, propelled by my powerful calves, and swung the pointy end of my left elbow in a devastating arc that shattered Igor's cranium and very damn well nearly knocked his entire head off with that single strike. A sickening 'thwack', like a human lumberjack striking down a thick-wooded tree, reverbrated through the clearing. Blood foutained. Wait, no, _spurted_ in a theatrical, dramatic arc reminiscient of fresh water bursting forth from a spring, behind him. The red painted the ground, soaking in, turning dark. Some of it went onto Angela's face and she shook like a leaf as she held her hands before her. Before he had hit the dirt, I had Shaded through the grasp of the second man, sifting like sand past his finger tips.

He stared at where I once stood, confused, and blinked twice.

And then my right knee drove upwards against his nuts.

'oh...'

Second man down.

Angela's eyes were wide, harried, shifting everywhich way at once and not looking at anything. I had a feeling the poor lass might be going into shock. Humans are so flimsy; weak. It sometimes amazed me to think they had become the dominant species on this planet. Perhaps... perhaps it was through their sheer numbers, the things could never stop breeding...

'What the fuck are you?!', he screamed as he stepped back hesitantly, fear showing in his eyes. Ah. Good. Terror. He had a right to be afraid.

I straightened, uncurling my fingers as I appraised the heathen, an answer forming on my lips. Do I spare this one? The air was thick and coppery with the taste of blood, the softening pulses of the fallen beasts light in my ears; but for the girl; her heart beat fast and strong- erratic. My eyes strayed to her jugular and I licked my lips before I trained my focus on the last rapist again.

'A woman', I slit his throat faster than he could blink, the body falling with a soft _thud_ at my back as I turned my head to look at the quivering form of the blond girl.

'-now as for yo-'

She fainted.


	21. Crimson be

They have many tastes. The old are usually thick and... almost even coagulated; by that expression alone you should be able to understand my disgust. The very young are... light, sweet, almost. Pure, basically, and drinks close to sugared water, given that the sugar is not very sweet and water itself is very bland. Adults; mature humans, belong in no particular class. I had tasted exotic ones, and taste is not related to appearance, nein- the most unassuming looking ones have been among my most favorite.

Then there are pretty girls that tasted like ground up dirt. But my favorite; a Japanese geisha- _my_ geisha; Asri, she had tasted like ecstasy. Ecstasy in a cup of tea. It was ethereal and... by extension obviously hard to describe. That was the high point of my time in the land of the rising sun prior to the Genpei War. After the Minamoto Clan began enroaching steadily on my cities I had sailed with the first of many ships away, away from those beautiful but oh-so-troubled lands.

Asri passed soon afterwards. I... did not cry for her.

I enjoyed the caviar more than I did sating my carnal thirst during my time in a sea side town, and we rode out the Mongol Invasion just fine even if losing half of its population did make Russia a rather depressing place to live in for a long, long time before the Grand Duchy got their country's act together and built something resembling a functional state. I tried to follow the throngs west to enlist because Khan's men were pretty badass dudes and I was also hoping I could try to infiltrate and maybe get some of that spicy plainspeople sexaction going but the army had crumbled before I was even halfway from the Black Sea to the Volga and so no army life for me and no sex.

Life was hard because everyone was so skinny and ugh... no food no food the bread was bad and it made them taste bad and I was really quite sad. But I got to see the bears, and wrestled with a few in my free time. It was pretty fun, to be honest, if one was to put all things else aside.

Siberia is really not quite as desolate as the humans make it out to be keeping in mind of course that having run across it a couple of times testing my Shade in sub-zero environment I got to see all of it; trees and pines and mating deers and everything. Also... ah... the tundra wolves were tiresome. They were so territorial and pissed everywhere to mark their grounds and always tried to fight me, their cross-country capabilities allowing the stronger few to pursue my Shade across dozens of miles of frozen wasteland it made watching the sunset unenjoyable.

Many times I sat on a tree and waved, tossing frozen bark and pines at them so they could go fetch like good doggos should, but they were quite uncooperative and just stared at me with somewhat unsettling shiny eyes. Like torches, but not flickering, and round. Each time my feet touched ground they would go 'nyoooooommmzzzz' like a speeding er I guess rabbit-gazelle hybrid and speed after me until it was not fun anymore. The one time I tried to stand my ground and make them be good doggos by staring them down the alpha held my gaze while three of them flanked me and tried to bite my head off from the back. They succeeded in dislodging my braids and I was like 'Hey! That's not cool! Those cost a ton in Egypt I had to slaughter like six priests to steal enough gold to get them!' but the dumb animals didn't understand human so they jumped me afterwards.

I was kind of not very happy with that so I killed the whole pack, hence I would say I'm probably at fault for tripling the carrion population in that part of Russia.

But anyways...

I would say the average Russian folk tasted a six out of ten, and they _really_ didn't help their haemoglobins in many regards, noting morosely I point out bland vodka has _never_ been a morally forgivable substitute for water. I tried it once and swore off it ever since the tavern owner laughed at me and poked fun at my brown complexion, but from a woman to another woman I say to you I think he would be real stoked to hear I fucked his wife upside down and drank her dry later that night but back to the Russians. Yes. They probably had no idea what they were doing, but then again I had never expected humans to know what was good for them, so maybe I'm ranting too much.

Here, now, Angela Ziegler tasted like honey, and I was probably also too busy kissing at her neck to tell you much else about my adventures around the world as I lost myself in pure bliss. She was so ducking yummy uguu it made me... m-ade me want to do things...

I was more likely than not being very lewd.

Oh look she's waking up. That's not very good.

How do I explain the bodies?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Tell me what you think, maybe I'll write more if it pleases you.


	22. Drunk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Random thoughts of a sleep-deprived, weary author. Dedicated to Eva. Pharah's perspective.

It is 2 a.m in the morning and I cannot sleep. I have some songs playing in the background I… don’t know what. I’ve smoked maybe half a packet maybe… more~

I would like to say that there was a soft pitter-patter of rain on my floor-to-ceiling glass windows. That would have been nice. Living on the twenty-seventh floor with floor-to-ceiling windows while getting them pounded by roaring rain- or even soft, gentle rain- has always been one of my favourite things to smoke or slowly fall asleep to. But there was no rain.

In fact the heat was stifling. Or rather it would have been if I didn’t have my air-conditioners on at full blast so in fact it is just a little cold. I pull my blanket further around myself and take another drag as I stare out at the city at night. A thousand lights and more and more than a million souls, busy with their lives, going about doing little things. Simple things. Things that don’t ever really matter in the long run but… it keeps them busy.

And I think when they are kept busy maybe they are less sad, I suppose. Out over the horizons in the infinite night sky I reckoned I saw the tiniest hint of blossoming purple red. A new dawn about to be herald.

…

I miss you.

You’ve got a lot of problems I know. And… I’ve got a lot of fear in my heart. (Yea)

I’m frozen while I’m watching you go, knocked on your door; asking can we restart. (Can we)

And maybe it’s an issue I’ll fix. Or maybe it’s a permanent scar. But every time I hear the word beauty I’m picturing your hand while you’re turning your car. (We were so happy.)

And I know that I say this too much… (I do)

But damn it this shit isn’t fair. (No.)

You were the taste of my toothbrush I had to use each morning and night I was there.

And you were the notes on my staff. You fit like the glove on my hand.

You are the smile on my face.

You are the beach to my… sand.

You make me complete, you make me complete, now I feel defeated.

You make me complete…

Angela I love you, my doktor I’ll have no one else. I still look at your number when I needed some help. I still get chills when I see you, you know that we’ve been going in. I get more angry than I need to, seeing you with someone else. I smashed our picture against the wall and cried on the bathroom floor while my hand bled and I forgot whose house I was in. I take up my phone and I stare at your number and I wonder if I'll call how've you been. I shiver a little, breathe in a little, cry a little me to sleep.… I hate the way you were always right. I hate how you didn’t love me in the end. Things are just things they don’t make who you are. I hate how we were always at each others’ necks. You don’t deserve me you made it think it was my fault. And even when you laughed I know you can’t stand me either. I sit here listening to these songs, soft, then deep beats just tickling at my hearing. It's nice and warm and soothe and suddenly the song goes sad and ugh. I guess I'll just skip to the next one I guess.

I hated when you made me laugh. Even more so when you walked out the door, and made me cry. I hate how you said you didn’t need me. All you did was lie to me and make me hate myself. You were always drinking and smoking and you were never here you’re just a stoner.

Another morning. Another morning for me to drink it all away.

Was I born for this. Born for this to feel broken up.

You act so different when you are sober. All you ever wanted was my attention but I… I. Now I know it was a ruin. Now I’m passed out on the bathroom floor and. I hated when you lied. I hated when you were not around. I hated when you ignored me.

But what I hate the most Is that I don’t hate you. Not even a little bit. Not even at all.

So say goodbye cause I’m leaving now.

And I will be strong.

Take your things cause we won’t meet up again. Say goodbye cause I’m leaving now.

And no matter what I will hold on.

 

 

 


End file.
